


The Founder's Prophecy

by Caenea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Bashing, Choices, Complete, Consent Issues, Courtship, Difficult Decisions, Divorce, Duelling, F/M, Fleur bashing, Founders, Hermione gets a bollocking, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mixed POV, Not Epilogue Compliant, Party, Prophecy, Prophets, Romance, Rows, Severus Snape Lives, Severus hates Halloween, Severus hates fancy dress, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-09-18 04:11:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 35
Words: 67,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9367427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caenea/pseuds/Caenea
Summary: A thousand years ago, Helga Hufflepuff made a prophecy about her peer, Salazar Slytherin and a girl with the power to make or break him. He must claim the girl as his mate - but the girl in question is his paradox and ultimate challenge, a Muggleborn girl called Hermione Granger. She’s fought for freedom and equality, but how will she cope when faced with the man whose prejudice led to it all?





	1. Chapter 1

My eighth year, NEWTs a year late. The Board did say that they’d pass me automatically in Defence, Potions, Charms, Transfiguration and Ancient Runes. But I don’t want to be automatically passed, I want to know I worked for it and I earned it. When I explained all this to Professor McGonagall, she seemed to understand. At least, she accepted me back with no questions after I wrote to her, telling her I wanted to come back to Hogwarts. 

When I return to Hogwarts, I discover that I’m still in Gryffindor Tower, but the staff has decided it will be best for me to have a bedroom of my own, because of my greater age and because of all the nightmares. I make a mental note to murder Harry slowly. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about the nightmares. They’re getting better. Or less frequent, anyway. They’re still bloody violent and bloody terrifying. I don’t bother arguing with McGonagall. The screaming alone would probably scare the hell out of the other girls. I’m half relieved, but also slightly annoyed by it - I wouldn’t have minded sharing, not with Ginny and her friends. They’re a damn sight less giggly than the girls from my year. Even so, I do appreciate the peace, especially after spending a year in a tent with two teenage boys. As much as I love them, they were awful sleeping companions. I had no idea Ron snored so badly. I thought some kind of pig had got into the tent that first night. I couldn’t do Silencing Charms; we needed to be on the alert constantly. Eventually I got used to it, but it took a long time. But I was so often so exhausted, I’d fall asleep as soon as I got to bed, so I just got used to going first, so I could drop off before he did. Harry barely even noticed it all, having shared a room with him for the best part of six years. I was the one who’d lie there night after night, considering hexing the daylights out of him. 

It’s a nice room, right at the top of the tower, under the conical turret. It’s fairly small, the walls being no more than about three feet high, before it starts to slope. I have a bed, a long low wardrobe and chest of drawers. Four windows look to the points of the compass and desk is under one of them. I’m a Prefect again, but I refused flatly to be Head Girl. I didn’t need that sort of hassle, and besides, I didn’t think I’d be able to do the post any justice. I told McGonagall I wanted to focus exclusively on my studies and didn’t think I’d be able to also include Head Girl duties. But the truth is, is that I know that I just can’t do it. I can’t let myself be a Head Girl. I’ve seen too much, done too much. I can’t be their role model. It’s bad enough with the press and the hero bullshit that keeps being bandied about. I didn’t need to give the press any more to rant on about. So they said I’d remain a Prefect, and Ginny got the Head Girl badge. Her mother was so proud. My room is furnished like the other rooms, except I have a double bed instead of a four-poster single. The bedclothes are red, and so is the padding on the desk chair.

Ginny comes in before I’ve done more than open my trunk and look at the contents of it. 

“I remembered you like to unpack the Muggle way, so I thought I’d come and help,” she says, innocently.

“No, you wanted to come and be nosy. But as you’re here, you can indeed help.”

“Ah, you caught me. It’s nice up here. I might have to take a year out of my studies and spend it in a tent with two boys if this is what I’ll get on my return.” She starts unpacking. “Nice dress.” I look at what she’s holding.

“My mother brought it. God knows why, I don’t know when I’m going to wear it.” She hangs it in the wardrobe, brushing the skirt out.

“Any time. It’s a good dress. You could wear it for a day out with the girls, casual shopping, or you could dress it up with some heels and a nice jacket, and wear it on a date.”

“A date?! With who?”

“I don’t know. Anyone. You never know. Where do you want jeans?”

“Bottom right drawer, jumpers in there too.” I take my suit carrier out of the trunk and remove my uniform, hanging it in the wardrobe. “Is my tie to hand?” Ginny fishes it out, and tosses it over, extracting two pairs of shoes and nudging me aside and putting them in the bottom of the wardrobe. It’s very companionable, unpacking with her, and we chatter about the upcoming term as we continue. 

“Hey, what’s this?” she asks, pulling out a small cardboard box. “Says it’s from your mum.”

“Really?” I ask, going over, and examining it. “I didn’t know this was in here.” She must have reorganized my entire trunk to get this in without my noticing. I sit on the bed, and she joins me. I undo the ribbon holding the thing together, and take the lid off. What’s revealed is a testament to my mother’s skill at packing. A flat wrapped package is on the top, and four small boxes are at the bottom. The opening of each reveals a sampling of all my favourite treats: pineapple upside cake, mint imperials, Parma Violet sweets and in the last, a glass jar of gherkins. In the package is a pretty square of silk that I can fold into a scarf or wrap round my hair maybe. Maybe make it into a wrap. She’s put in one of her hand-made knitted hats, with a bobble on it, and a framed photo of the three of us together. That’s Australia, when I went to fetch them. They were stunned when I told them what I’d done to save them. Stunned and grateful. My father still looks at me a little oddly, but he also tells me every day that he’s grateful for the sacrifices I made to keep him and mum alive. Finally, there’s a small velvet jewellery box. I open it curiously, and my eyes widen. Nestled on black silk are ruby droplet earrings, and a matching pendant. There’s a simple gold identity bracelet in there, and there’s writing on the sheet part. I have to angle it a little to read it, and feel my eyes fill a little. I put it on, silently, and I don’t mention what I read. Ginny, to her credit, being far, far more discreet than either Harry or Ron, doesn’t ask what I saw. She simply picks up the necklace and admires it. I take it from her when she hands it back and put it back into the jewellery box. I slip it into the bedside drawer. I’ll keep it and the earrings for an occasion. I can’t walk around and wear them. I’d be terrified of losing them. But I will wear the bracelet. I offer Ginny some cake, and she accepts gladly. 

“My God, that’s amazing. You’ll have to give me the recipe.”

“I’ll copy it out for you. Here, try these.” I give her one of each sweet, and we discover she’s not so into Violets, but does appreciate the mints, so I slip her some of those. I insist she tries a gherkin, but she nearly chokes to death.

“I don’t think I like them,” she gasps. 

“Well, you had such a big bite, it’s too much for these, and you have to have a little bit. Here, have this small bit.” 

“No, no. I’m fine. I shall live without gherkin in my life.” I laugh, checking my watch.

“We’d better get changed, or we’ll be late getting downstairs for the Feast. And we can’t miss the Sorting.” She and I Apparated here, having managed to persuade McGonagall to let us do so, mostly so we wouldn’t be trapped on a train by people pressing themselves against the glass to get a look at us. She agreed it might be easier, and took pity on me. It was made all the easier by the Head Boy, a Ravenclaw by name of Joe, agreeing that train duty wouldn’t be an issue for him to do alone. 

When we’re both in uniform, we head down to the Great Hall together. 

“So, when will Harry be visiting you?” I tease, nudging her. She goes redder than her hair, but she smiles.

“In a couple of weeks. He went to McGonagall to ask especially. She gave in after he promised to also run a special Quidditch training session, and that he’d only see me in my free time. After that it’ll only be Hogsmeade weekends, so about once a month.”

“Do you mind seeing him so little?”

“Well yes, but I’ll probably get more quality time with him this way that I would if we were both still at school and working for NEWTs. And you know, we’ll get to have holidays together, so it could be worse. Could be like last year.”

“True,” I say, softly. She looks at me.

“I think I love him, Hermione.” I nod, but I don’t reply to her. I already know that Harry’s made up his mind about what Ginny means to him, and that he’s just waiting for her to decide. I say none of this to her, having been sworn to absolute secrecy. He doesn’t want her to feel pressured into making a choice. I’m silently sure that when the time comes for her to making her choice, she’ll choose him. Why on earth wouldn’t she? 

Professor McGonagall is waiting in the entrance hall, and the first carriages are visible, emerging from the gloom. The Thestrals don’t even turn heads now. Everyone’s seen death now. 

“Ah, Miss Weasley, Miss Granger,” she says, crisply, cutting into my musings. “Go into the Receiving Chamber, please, and await the arrival of the first years, while I see that the returning students don’t dawdle about. Stay with them, introduce yourself, Miss Weasley.”

“Yes, Professor,” we chorus, departing immediately. She’s still scary, even after all these years. You’d think I’d’ve grown out of that. We’re not waiting for long, and a swarm of tiny people come into the chamber we’re standing in. A taller boy shoves them gently aside and progresses towards us. I shake hands with him, introduce myself quietly, and Ginny holds up a hand to quell the babble. 

“Alright, everyone! My name’s Ginny Weasley and I’m the Head Girl. You’ve already met Joe, the Head Boy, and you’ll be meeting the Prefects after you’ve been sorted into your houses. Hermione is one of the Gryffindor Prefects, so some of you will be getting to know her throughout the year. If you ever have problems or any concerns, your House Prefects and the Head Boy and myself will be on hand to help, please always feel you can talk to us. Soon you’ll be Sorted and then it’s the Welcoming Feast: and if you’re as hungry as me, it’ll be welcome indeed.” You could hear a pin drop before a few uncertain giggles ring out. “OK, sorry, that was an awful pun. Are there any questions?” One of the small scraps raises his hand. 

“Are you related to the Weasley’s behind Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes?” he squeaks. He’s adorable. 

“Indeed I am. It belongs to my brother George.” She doesn’t mention Fred. Poor George is struggling a little, but he’s actually doing fairly well. Angelica is helping hugely. And the family rallied round. It’s been difficult, and it’s going to be difficult for a while. But he’s managing, just about.

“Cool,” the little kid breathes, and I’m recalled to the present. Ginny even manages to smile. Another tiny one - seriously, why are they all so small? - puts his hand up. 

“Are you the Hermione Granger?” he mumbles, blushing furiously. Somebody obviously drew the short straw. I smile kindly at him, which only makes him go redder. 

“I am.” There’s a rustle of noise as they turn and whisper furiously to one another. Thankfully, Professor McGonagall has impeccable timing, and she sweeps imposingly into the room. 

“Ah, Mr Wingnut, I was wondering what had become of you,” she says, addressing Joe. “Very well you three, off you go.” We depart quickly, smiling round at the first years. 

“I swear to Merlin I was never that small and squeaky,” Joe comments. 

“Yes you were,” I say, serenely. “You all were, I remember it. Even I was, at one point.” Joe snorts.

“I always just figured you were born grown up. I can’t imagine you being a child. I remember you, you helped people figure out that Basilisk thing,” he says. Ginny shivers a little beside me, and I change the subject quickly. 

“Yes, well. Stuff, you know. Good summer?”

“Yeah. Peaceful. Nice to be that way. You know.”

“I know,” I say, softly. I know exactly what it means. The first good summer. The first unthreatened, peaceable summer. It was lovely. Lovely and calm. We have to separate then, and he goes to his table and Ginny and I go to ours, sitting with her friends, all of whom greet me with smiles and friendly words. They’re a good set, mostly like Ginny, and I decide I’ll like them very much. 

Unlike Professor Dumbledore, McGonagall gives her speech after the Sorting and before the food. She does share his concept of short and sweet however. 

“Today, a new era has begun. To our old students, welcome back, and to our new students, you are most welcome as the first intake into our rebuilt school. We hope that you will bear it into this new age and take as your motto the message of the Light: That all are equal, all are worthy and that goodness is always, always worth fighting for. You are, as cliché and tired as it might well be, the future of the Wizarding World, and that future is whatever you might chose to make of it. All that is asked of you by me and by those people, who fought to provide you with that future, is to make the future better than the past we had. That is all I have to say. Enjoy your feast.” It takes a while for the chatter to pick up after that. It’s a bit tense, but as the food appears, the gasps of awe from the first years break the tension and the noise shoots right up. Ginny lays in enthusiastically, and I help myself to little of everything and pour us both pumpkin juice. 

After dinner, when I’m almost too full to move, Ginny and I have to run herd on a crowd of swarming little ones. We run them up to the common room, and tell them the password and that they should go on upstairs where they’ll find their trunks. If any issues happen, they can come and ask us, and we’ll stay in the common room until ten. 

“Did you see much of Snape over the summer?” she asks, cuddling into an armchair. I take the one opposite and look into the fire.

“A fair bit, yes. He came over.”

“Well, you did save his life.”

“I managed to get a bezoar down his damn throat in time. Once we realised that Nagini wasn’t actually a poisonous snake but was carrying potion in her fangs, it was logical.”

“Logical,” she snorts. “Quite possibly, but the point stands that it was still you. He should be more grateful.”

“He is grateful,” I say, reproachfully. “But it’s hardly in his nature to go about raving about it. He said thank you.”

“Yeah, once. Right before he said you were an irritating smug little know-it-all.” I shrug.

“Yeah, but coming from Snape that’s a pretty good compliment.”

“True. Is he teaching this year?”

“St Mungo’s and - actually, me too - think he should wait a while, a long while, until he feels a hundred percent and, you know, can move without a stick, but hey, he’s a stubborn git. So he’s back, but McGonagall and he had a blistering row at Grimmauld Place and she browbeat him into sharing classes, so Slughorn’s staying on.”

“How do you know they argued?”

“I was there, helping Harry paint the ceilings. He doesn’t like the ladders.”

“He’s never afraid of heights?” she asks, mischief in her eyes.

“No,” I say, and point accusingly. “And don’t you go teasing, because he isn’t. He just hates rickety old stepladders. I was holding the ladder. They were in the kitchen, clearing out the old order stuff. Didn’t even need Extendable Ears, we could hear it from the top floor.”

“Harry redecorating all of it?”

“Cept Regulus’s old room and Sirius’s. He says Sirius always, always meant to, so he’ll do it for him, now he’s got the time. We managed to get rid of that ghastly woman too.”

“How?” she asks. 

“I burnt it,” I say. “Set fire to the blasted thing. She cursed me to the very last too. Most creatively.”

“Good for you. Sirius would be pleased.”

“Dance a jig, I’d expect. Only thing left is that awful tapestry he hated so much. I’m going to get rid of that at Christmas.” As none of the first years have put in an appearance, and the clock chimes ten, I get up. “Well, I’m going to bed. I’m shattered.”

“I won’t be far behind you. Meet me down here at seven for breakfast?”

“Sure.” It’s a relief to fall into bed, and I just remember to set the alarm before falling asleep. I can’t wait for morning. I need that routine. I hadn’t realised how much I missed it.


	2. Chapter 2

When the alarm rang that first morning, I was almost surprised by how easily the routine was to settle into, how simple it was to accept the routine of school back into my life. It was even welcome, after that crazy year on the run, welcome to have timetables and scheduled meals and regular post each morning. Three weeks have already flown by. Molly and my parents write every other day, Harry writes two or three times a week. Ron is and always has been a truly rubbish correspondent. Sometimes he manages to compose a brief note and slip it in with either Harry or Molly’s letters, but more often than not, one of them will add a brief postscript, something along the lines of “Ron says hi, and that he hopes you’re well”. After the initial shock of that kiss, we both agreed that we should remain friends and only friends. And after the initial awkwardness, we got used to the idea and even managed to laugh it off.

I’m sitting in Transfiguration, and it’s starting to get colder outside. We’re into October now, and for a couple of days now, there’s been nothing to see but grey. The wind has a bite to it too, and today it’s rattling at the panes in the windows almost joyfully. McGonagall finished her lecture early today, and is holding an impromptu question and answer session. It’s meant to be about Transfiguration. But we wandered off that subject, and someone brought up the founders.

“Professor, what do you think the founders would think of Hogwarts now? Do you think they’d be proud of their school?”

“Salazar wouldn’t,” says a Hufflepuff, with whom we share this class. “He’d probably be rolling in his tomb.”

“Why?” asks Ginny.

“None of the Golden Trio who saved the damn castle were pureblooded!” he says, and there’s general laughter.

“Hey, Ron is,” Zacharias Smith says.

“True, but we’re the biggest blood traitor family ever,” Ginny says. “And Harry’s half-blood and Hermione here is Muggleborn.” There’s more laughter.

“Oh yes,” I say, smiling. “He’s probably shrieking with horror.”

“Professor,” says a Hufflepuff I vaguely recognise, but whose name I can’t recall, “isn’t there supposed to be some sort of prophecy about Salazar?”

“What?” McGonagall has gone very pale. “What?”

“Yeah. My uncle used to tell me stories about the founders, and I always thought they were just stories. But there was one about Salazar and a paradox. Made by Helga Hufflepuff? Do you know anything about it?”

“Yes. There is supposed to be a prophecy. You are correct about it being about Salazar and a paradox.”

“Is there actually a prophecy?” I hear my voice saying.

“It is supposed, yes. Now that’s the end of class. Off you go.” As people gather their books, and leave, I separate from the flood. Ginny calls after me.

“Where are you going?”

“Library,” I call back, knowing she won’t follow. There’s something nagging at me, a sense of déjà vu. I feel like there’s something too familiar about that prophecy. I ask Madam Pince for books about Salazar Slytherin, say it’s for History of Magic, and she directs me to a dusty corner. It’s been sadly neglected. I pull down a tome entitled The Man behind the Serpent, thinking it sounds reasonably promising. Sure enough, it’s right there, on the contents page. The Prophecy. I flip to page 92, thinking there can’t possibly be more than one prophecy about the man. He’s not that spectacular. I can’t think why anyone would want to prophesise about him at all.

_"It is set down this day that a prophecy is made of Slytherin. After a war between the light and the darkness themselves, Slytherin must be raised from his grave and given life by a lion and a snake. He must be granted one more chance at his life, if he should claim as his his paradox. This shall be a girl with parents not gifted, acclaimed afar and near as a hero of Light and Gold, and she will have been branded. She will be his greatest enemy, as he shall be hers. He shall be her greatest lover, and she will be his greatest challenge. Should she not consent within the month of resurrection, then Slytherin must return to his grave."_

I close the book methodically. I stand, tuck it under my arm, take it to Madam Pince. She checks it out for me, saying nothing. I walk to the classroom I left not ten minutes ago - can it really have been so short a time? - and knock quietly. When I answer the permission to enter, there is a class there. I barely register them, instead going to McGonagall. She watches me.

“I am the paradox this prophecy speaks of,” I say, flatly. “Aren’t I, Professor?”

“Go into my office. Wait there.”

“Am I the paradox of this prophecy?”

“Miss Granger, I’m teaching -”

“Am I the paradox of this prophecy?” I know the students are staring.

“Mr Andrews, please fetch Professor Snape here. Ask him to hurry. Hermione, wait there.” I stand exactly where I am, and listen to her talk about turning gerbils into wine glasses. I remember this class. So long ago. So, so long ago, when I was a child and so naïve. Once they’re started on the practical, McGonagall turns back to me.

“What’s this about?” I thrust the book at her.

“This prophecy. You know it’s me, you know they meant me!”

“Please don’t shout.”

“For Gods sake, give me an answer.” Professor Snape comes in then, led by Mr Andrews.

“Ah, Professor Snape. Can you please take Hermione to your classroom - it is vacant? Good - and please explain this to her.” She proffers the book, which he takes and scans.

“I see.”

“Take her there, keep her there, and I will join you after this class. Go with him, Hermione.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I get answers. How do I know he’ll give me them? How do I know you won’t just fob me off?”

“Miss Granger, I don’t care how upset you are, I will not permit you to speak to me thusly.”

“I don’t care!” I say, aware that I’m becoming a touch on the hysterical side. “I -”

“Hermione, I will drag you if I must,” Snape says quietly. It’s enough to recall me temporarily to my senses. I won’t be dragged anywhere, and I know he’s well capable of fulfilling such a threat, even in his weakened state. I finally consent to let him escort me from the room, and he bundles me out rapidly, before I can make any more of a scene. “What in Merlin’s name is the matter with you?” he demands angrily, taking my upper arm and marching me along.

“You know all too well what the matter with me is.”

“How do you know -”

“For Gods sake!” I explode. “How could it be anyone else? Salazar’s greatest paradox and enemy - the amount of times I’ve spoken against him, the amount of times I’ve slagged him off -”

“What?”

“Been rude about him, it’s a Muggle term. His paradox, Snape. And branded - have you forgotten Bellatrix’s little memento? Show me someone else who’s come out of the War like me.”

“Alright,” he snaps. “Insufferable brat that you are, it’s you. This is not how we planned for you to find out.”

“Oh, so there was a plan to tell me before you “must” resurrect the bastard then?”

“Don’t be impertinent, Miss Granger,” he says, sharply. “And don’t use that language.”

“I’ll say as much to him, Snape, and more and worse! In fact, he’ll be lucky if I don’t shove his balls down his throat on sight. Then there’s no way he’ll be able to come anywhere near me.”

“So you don’t intend to allow it?”

“On what planet would I?”

After a hideous interview, I agree to at least think about it. I go straight to Ginny, drag her to an empty classroom.

“What is this?” she demands, as I shove the book at her.

“The prophecy about Salazar and the paradox.” I give her six seconds before it bursts out. “Do you see?” I demand. “Do you see?”

“Yes,” she says, softly. “Yes, I see it. This is about you.”

“Yes. And it’s not possible not to bother wasting time and leave him dead. We have to wake him up.” She blows out a breath.

“Bloody hell,” she says. I feel a faint smile spreading on my lips.

“You remind me so much of Ron when you say that. But yes, it is rather bloody hellish.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Research. Find everything I can on him, find out about him, find the context of this damn prophecy.”

“I meant what are you going to do about the bit where he has to - um… claim you.”

“Well, let me put it this way. I would rather jump into the River Styx than fulfill that particular aspect.”

“Particular aspect?”

“I have to allow him to be woken up, that’s non-negotiable. It says must, so we must waken him. Still, there’s an upside.”

“An upside?! An upside to waking up such a scumbag? Girl, whatever you’re on, it’s time you started sharing.”

“I’m going to get to look him in the eye and I’m going to get to have him realise that a Mudblood witch is going to be his end.”

After hours of research, I’m forced to conclude that he must be woken. However, intriguingly, his claim must be consented to. He can’t drag me off kicking and screaming. I have to “surrender of my own free will” and nothing less than total surrender will do. I wonder what that means. Shall I simply have to tell him I’m good to go, or will it require some form of God-awful public declaration of surrender? Because if it is, it absolutely definitely isn’t going to happen. Debate is still open, for now, if nine hundred odd years in the ground has mellowed him at all. I seriously doubt it, but one never knows. Death might have changed him at least a little. And if it has not, then I’ll enjoy myself immensely, reminding him that his life lies entirely in the hands of a Mudblood girl who he would never look at otherwise. And I don’t care how petty, vindictive, spiteful and entirely unlike me that is. This is the man whose prejudice laid the path for Voldemort to walk. This is a man who would have denied every Muggleborn education. This is a man who will hate me on sight, and why should I not hate him back? So at the end of the day, I find McGonagall and Snape in his dungeon. I know why I find them together - he is the snake, she the lion, and both of them were simply waiting for me.

“I’ll do this, because there is no other choice but to wake him. But I also give fair warning - I have literally no intention of allowing that rat-bastard to live.”

“That’s understood, Miss Granger. Unfortunately, we are bound by the laws of prophecy. It says that we must, so I am afraid that we must awaken him, at least.”

“You never know, Miss Granger. You may find yourself to be wrong for once in your life, and find he’s not so terrible.” I stare at him, but I’m spared having to be incredibly rude to him by McGonagall.

“Severus, I’m starting to think that poison addled your brains,” she snaps. “I don’t expect this to happen for even a moment. If there were any way out of it, I wouldn’t even consent to have him resurrected. As it is, we’re going to have to have that man in this castle, which is quite enough to be getting on with. Now, I propose we get the whole disaster over with, and quickly. The ritual will be at midnight on Saturday. Meet us on the shores of the lake, Miss Granger.”

“Is the lake special?”

“Salazar was buried beneath the lake,” Snape informs me.

“Can we safely assume that Miss Weasley knows?”

“Yes. I needed to talk to someone about it.”

“I have to tell you, we will have to tell the students. It is better they know the truth than we allow them to indulge in wild rumours.” McGonagall holds up a hand. “Please understand our difficult point.”

“I understand it. I don’t believe I must accept it, but I understand it. I must tell Harry and Ron - although -” I hesitate. “I’m not sure if that’s advisable.”

“No doubt because you’ve finally realised that Mr Weasley is a dunderhead, who might mean well, but frequently takes a great deal of time to realise he means well.” I shrug helplessly, but nod. He’s right. Harry would be able to be rational, despite his temper, which is simmering off now he’s eighteen and not living with the pressures and threats of Voldemort. Over this past summer, I’ve found him to be quietly steady, reassuringly calm, and silently relieved to shed his war hero cloak and enjoy gentle peace. All three of us received money after it was all over, and if we all got the same, then we’re all three set for life. With Harry’s name and face all but copyrighted, he receives a steady income from something. He retreated to Grimmauld Place, and is redecorating, making it into a home. He’s perfectly happy, tucked away in Muggle London, especially now everything is done. But Ron - well, Ron was never more subtle than a raging bull in a china shop. Completely and utterly irrational. I can’t tell him. He wouldn’t be able to understand. But I cannot tell Harry and not Ron, that would just make it all ten times worse. He’d be so hurt and so upset.

“Can I go?” I ask, quietly.

“Yes. Take all the time you need, Hermione. If you wish to be excused lessons tomorrow -”

“No. I want things to be normal. I don’t want to add a change in my routine to the amount they have to gossip about. When will you tell them.”

“Tonight.”

“I will make myself scarce.” I go then, go and find Ginny, desperately needing someone to speak to.

MPOV

After she’s gone, and with such grace and calm, I turn to Severus. I’ve never felt so proud of her and I’ve never felt so sorry for her.

“Do you really believe there’s a chance she’ll fulfill this prophecy?”

“Perhaps. The accounts that we have describing Salazar say he was enigmatic, charming, handsome and a master of seduction.”

“Do you seriously think that those things will make Hermione overlook the fact that this is the man she hates more than she has ever hated anyone? With the possible - possible exception of Voldemort?”

“She is a woman, therefore to be won,” he quotes, dryly. “I admit it’ll be a vague hope but a hope none the less. He will have to try very hard, but remember he has the motivation to try very hard. He will have the cause to be charming and seductive and enigmatic with her. He’ll really want to live.”

“However, he’ll be facing someone equally determined and equally adamant about something. Hermione really doesn’t like him and she doesn’t want him to live. And lets never underestimate how stubborn she can be. I feel sorry for her - all she wanted was a nice quiet final year and now she has to deal with this nonsense. If it hadn’t come up in class, I would have waited until the summer, when she could have handled it privately.” I glance at him, sitting in a brooding silence. “People will talk about her decision.”

“That he deserves a chance, and that by not giving him one, she’s all but murdering him.”

“I don’t want her to have to justify herself, she shouldn’t have to. We will speak to her about allowing us to become her spokesmen. She will not be asked to deal with the press.”

“Stubborn little chit probably won’t permit it.”

“We can but try.”

Poor Hermione. With a sigh for her, I get up. It is time to tell the students.


	3. Chapter 3

GPOV

The night is cool, but it doesn’t entirely account for how tightly Hermione is wrapped in her cloak. I suspect that she’s using as much for comfort as she is for keeping the wind out. So far, the conversation has been casual chat about Runes, but I know there’s more on her mind. I know she’s seen McGonagall, and I can’t take much more of her babbling on about translating.

“I have to tell Harry and Ron,” she says, entirely without preamble. I resist the sigh of relief that wants to escape. “But I’m none too sure that telling Ron is the best idea, but I can’t tell Harry and not Ron because then everything will be ten times worse.” She sounds extraordinarily distressed, and I curse my brother’s tactlessness.

“And telling Ron would be a bad idea because Ron’s a tactless idiot who will get arsey and say hurtful things even though he’d eventually be on your side.”

“Exactly. But I can’t not tell him, Ginny, he’d be so hurt.”

“Get Harry to tell him.”

“Wouldn’t you consider that taking the coward’s way out of a difficulty?”

“No, I’d consider it the sensible thing. He can be a prat away from you, and then you can only deal with nice, rational Ron, when he’s done being stupid.”

“I think I like this plan.”

“Yeah, I have my moments.”

“Will you help me compose some sort of explanation to Harry?”

“Sure. Will you - is there anyone else you should tell?”

“I can’t tell my parents, Ginny,” she murmurs, understanding perfectly. “They wouldn’t understand, couldn’t. All telling them would do, would be worry, frighten and confuse them, and I won’t put them through that when they’ve already endured so much at my hands.”

“Well then, you should at least tell my mother. She will understand, and it might be good for you to have a maternal presence to can turn to for advice or anything. I’ll write to her, if you’d like.”

“Would you? Ginny, I can’t tell you how much this means to me. You being so calm and supportive and rational, I mean. I think I would’ve jumped off the Astronomy Tower by now if you hadn’t been here to reason with me.”

“It’s OK to need someone, Hermione,” I reply, slipping an arm around her. “There’s no shame in that.”

“I know. I know, I just - I guess I just got so used to being the helper. Will you be there? When they wake him up, will you be with me?”

“When and where?”

“Saturday at midnight. By the lake.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Thank you. I’m not so sure I won’t just whip my wand out and curse the bastard, you know.”

“I’ll only let you if I can hex him too. Of course, at being greeted by a blood traitor and a Muggleborn, there’s a reasonable chance that he’ll just keel over and have a fatal heart attack.”

“We can but hope. At least it’d save it being dragged out.” I open my mouth to ask what she means, but she cuts across me, changing the subject entirely. I let her, knowing she’s talked about it all she wants for now, and that I have to let her talk about this in her own time. And right now, she’s definitely not in the mood. I have to cut across her rambling about the Giant Squid to tell her it’s approaching curfew, and that we should be going back in. When we walk into the Entrance Hall, students returning to common rooms and houses stop, stare, and immediately begin to whisper. And with a shock, I realise that they’ve found out - or to be accurate, they’ve been told.

“Hermione’s in a prophecy…”

“When McGonagall said…”

“Her! Of all people!”

“Snape said stuff about Salazar Slytherin…” Hermione makes no indication that she’d heard a single word of it. She walks very calmly through the Hall, and walks to Gryffindor Tower without even batting an eyelid. Only when we’ve gained the common room does she bolt for it. I make to go after her, but a fourth year I vaguely recognise steps out and waylays me.

“Is it true, Ginny? That there’s some prophecy about Hermione and Salazar needing to bang? Because that’s what McGonagall said -”

“I highly doubt the Headmistress said anything of the sort, McGovern.” I snap. “But yes, sadly, it is true. Now go away and lose ten points from Gryffindor for being inappropriate about the Headmistress.” Halfway up the stairs, I regret snapping at him. He’ll probably go off now and draw his own conclusions now, that Hermione doesn’t mean to fulfill the prophecy. But she needs me far more than I need to go downstairs and tell people to keep their mouths shut. I knock on her door.

“Hermione? Hermione, can I come in?” She doesn’t answer me, and when I try her door, it’s locked. I roll my eyes and use her own favourite, Alohomora. The door swings open at once, and I go in. She’s curled on her bed, facing away from me. “Hermione, you OK?”

“Go away.”

“Not till I know you’ll be OK.”

“I’ll be fine, Ginny, I just need to hide for a bit.”

“I’ll come back tomorrow, before breakfast - which you are having, Hermione,” I say, firmly, pre-empting her protests. I leave her then, and go back to the common room, finding an empty table and pulling parchment, quill and ink towards me.

_Mum -_

_You might be surprised to hear from me so early in the term - don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten anything. This is about Hermione. I’m not sure how much you know about the Founders, but a few hundred years back, Hufflepuff made a prophecy about Salazar Slytherin and how he’d be resurrected after a war between light and dark. He’d have one month at another chance of a life, if he could claim his paradox or he’d return to his tomb, never to be woken again. Anyway, without going into every single tiny detail about it - I can fill you in fully if you’d like, but for now, let me just explain that the paradox Slytherin has to claim is Hermione._

_I don’t suppose you need telling that she’s not, as such, over the moon about this. She’s more or less decided that at the end of his month, Slytherin will be returning to his tomb unfulfilled. She must consent, freely and she has to mean it. But all this means is that she’s once more the very centre of attention and gossip and I’m afraid that it’ll all be too much this time. She needs someone to be motherly support and daren’t inflict this on her parents. She needs to hear that someone she loves as a mother, in this case, you, tell her that it’s OK for her to make whatever choice she wants. Thing is, she’s afraid. She hasn’t said so, but I can tell that under all the anger and hate she feels for Slytherin, she’s scared of something. Not him, she’s definitely not afraid of him, but she is afraid of something, and she won’t tell me what. She’s writing to Harry and Ron about this, so please don’t mention it to them yet. Let her tell them in her own time._

_Do you think if you asked Professor McGonagall, she’d let you come up and visit her? I think she needs it, but I can hardly suggest it myself. Anyway, that’s the main gist of the whole thing. All a bit of a mess, really, even though she’s doing her level best to stay casual and look unaffected by it all. Give my love to Dad and everyone. I’ll keep you updated as far as I can, because you know she’ll just write to you that she’s doing fine, even if that’s the very last thing she is._

_All my love, Ginny._

I seal it into an envelope, address it, and leave the Common Room to make for the Owlery. It’s definitely best to post it at once, and I call down a barn owl, one of the ones any of us can use, and give it instructions to wait for an answer by return of post. It hoots softly, and flies off into the dark. I watch it out of sight and then leave the Tower, heading back to our Common Room, where I start chivvying first years to go to bed and clear the common room. I’m the last one in my dormitory, and the others are already asleep. I’m grateful - I thought they’d all still be awake and waiting to quiz me on Hermione. I get to bed in peace, but sleep badly and lightly, and every time I wake up, I can hear Hermione pacing above us.

The next morning, it’s instantly obvious that she was wandering all night and hasn’t slept. She’s white as a sheet, and the circles under her eyes look almost like bruises. I feel for her - if anything, the fact that there’s been a chance for everyone to sleep on it has made the whispering even worse. In the cold, harsh daylight, it seems most people have finally realised the full implications of the prophecy and those people who were unaware of Hermione’s heritage have now been made aware by various thoughtful friends. Even if most of the whispers are sympathetic to Hermione’s troubles, a fair percentage are stupidly assuming that it’s not even such a huge deal. Luna brings me up to speed on the way to the Great Hall, as naturally, everyone knows what’s happened and everyone knows what’s being said. Hermione is forced to endure breakfast surrounded by about five hundred people, all staring at her and in an effort to distract her from that and to try and get her to eat something, I cover her hand in mine and smile at her.

“What’s your first class?”

“Potions, second hour.”

“What’ll you do first hour?”

“Hide,” she says, simply. “Go hide myself away in the Restricted Section and I’m also going to be late for Potions.” I gape at her.

“And then,” I say, recovering a little, “Snape will kill you.”

“Good,” she says, flatly. “It’ll save me jumping off the Astronomy Tower.” She gets up, collects her things, and leaves the Hall at a pace which gives nobody any chance of really staring at her. I meet the eye of Professor McGonagall, and I read the concern on her face. I can’t tell her there’s nothing to worry about, and I need her permission to follow Hermione into the Restricted Section. I leave my seat, and make my way up to the Staff table.

“Is she doing as badly as I think she is?”

“She’s gone to hide in the Restricted Section - her words, not my inference. I don’t think she should be left alone just now, but I need a note to be able to follow her in.”

“Have you parchment, quill? I’ll give you one.” I rummage through my bag, produce the items and she transfigures her bacon into ink and writes me a note. As I take both, she stays my hand. “I don’t know if Hermione asked you to be there on Saturday night. But I am asking you now - she’ll need someone there for her.”

“She asked me last night. And I said I would be.” She nods, satisfied, and I hurry from the Hall, following Hermione. If she honestly expected me to leave her alone, she’s gone bats. I thrust the note under Madam Pince’s nose, demanding she acknowledge it before helping some earnest looking first year find some books. She nods curtly, waves me off, and I slip through the doors, trying not to make any noise. I don’t want her to have a chance to hide herself somewhere. She’s about halfway down the aisles, sitting on a windowsill, gazing out blankly at the Forest. Without turning, she speaks.

“Go away, Ginny.”

“No.” I say it firmly, and she lifts her head, looking at me with exhaustion in her face.

“Please.”

“No,” I repeat, this time putting my bag on the floor and perching myself on the top of a cabinet.

“Go!” she snaps it, irritation cutting through her bleak languidness, accompanying it with a glower Snape would have been proud of.

“I will not.” I say it calmly, meet her eyes. “Not until you’ve explained why you want to jump off the Astronomy Tower and I’m sure you won’t jump out of that window.”

“I can’t, these windows don’t open.”

“Whatever. Look, you might have been able to make the boys piss off on cue, but unfortunately for you, I am a little tougher than that. So you’re just stuck with me.” I fold my arms and return her glare. “Astronomy Tower. Why do you want to jump?” She glowers for some time, but then her shoulders slump and her eyes fill with tears. I jump off my perch and scramble onto her window seat, putting my arms around her.

“How can I justify letting him die, Ginny?” she whispers. “How can I let it happen when I -have the power to stop it? When allowing him to die would be the same as murdering him myself, how do I justify that?”

“Oh, Hermione,” I say, realizing with lightning suddenness that this is what’s been bothering her, what it is she’s scared of. “You can’t think like that. Listen to me, now. You say you couldn’t let him die - but could you bear to let him live, when you know what that would involve and what it would cost you?”

“I will never do that,” she snarls, venomously.

“Then there’s only one solution. We go back to the start and we examine that prophecy in every detail, from every possible angle. And if there is a loophole, we will find it.”

“That prophecy is nearly a thousand years old. If it was even the tiniest bit invalid, if there was even the tiniest loophole, don’t you think someone would have already found it?”

“Possibly, but then it wasn’t a case of have to. This is. So until we look, really look, we won’t know. Then if there’s nothing, then you know there was no chance and he will know you honestly tried to save him.” There’s a little pause. “Could you never?” I ask, and she knows immediately what I mean.

“No,” she murmurs. “Never. He will always be the man who laid the foundations for Voldemort’s hatred and he will always be the man who let it be possible for people to call me Mudblood. He is the man who made it alright for Bellatrix to carve that word into me like a brand on cattle. I can never look at him without knowing that and knowing how appalling a man he was.” I carry on hugging her for a few moments, and then put her away from me.

“Then I will never blame you. No matter what happens and no matter what you choose to do, I will never blame you and I will never think any less of you. Anyone who is stupid enough to do so will have to go through me and the people who really matter, the people who really love you, will understand entirely. And I will defend whatever choice you make till the very, very last.”

“Thank you, Ginny. Not just for being here, but for everything - and I guess thank you for not going away when I asked.”

“Like I said, I’m not the boys. So you’re stuck, because the quickest way to get me to become a Permanent Sticking Charm is to tell me to go away.” She doesn’t laugh, but the shadows of a smile stir on her face. “Still want me to be late for Potions? Because if we go now, we’ll avoid the rush and we’ll only have to deal with students leaving the dungeon.” She exhales.

“Yeah. Yeah, come on.” She swings herself down from her windowsill and picks up her school bag. She’s not really relaxed, but she’s far less tense, and mercifully, Snape apparently gave his students a diabolical amount of homework, as they’re all far too busy complaining bitterly to notice us. For the first time in my school career, I thank Merlin that Snape is such a hard-ass.


	4. Chapter 4

HPOV

The next three days fly by, much to my discomfort, and before I know it I’m sitting down for dinner with Ginny on Saturday night. I want to throw up, scream, cry, run and run until Hogwarts is gone over the horizon and I’m a thousand miles from this. Ginny is doing her best to distract me, making sure I eat and drink, insisting I finish what she puts on my plate, even the pudding that nearly starts a fight between us. But she wins and in mutinous silence, I finish my dessert. She also refuses to allow me to go and hide in the library, instead insisting that we go up to my room and relax until 11.30. I get up feeling like a condemned man when the clock in the Astronomy Tower strikes the half-hour. At the last minute, I change out of my robes. I put on jeans, a jumper, pull my leather jacket over them - I will not wear magical clothes. I wear my bracelet, of course, and as an afterthought, I add the earrings to the ensemble. Ginny wears Muggle clothing, but adds her cloak. 

“Are you ready?” she asks me quietly. She looks me over. “You look good.”

“I’m not ready, Gin. I don’t want to do this.” She hugs me. 

“I’m sorry. You know we have to go.”

“I know. Might as well just go, get it over with.” The common room is surprisingly and mercifully empty, and I make a mental note to thank whichever Prefect saw to that. The entire castle is silent, and we don’t even meet the ghosts until the Entrance Hall, when I discover that even Peeves has joined a ghostly guard of honour. As I step off the stairs, the Bloody Baron steps forward.

“Miss Granger,” he says staring at me, “we are aware of the event about to take place, and we are here to wish you luck. I have the somewhat - dubious - pleasure of remembering Salazar. I will not be hesitating to remind him of exactly what constitutes a gentlemen, should he forget.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” He manages a ghostly smile and I smile back. He steps aside, and we walk down and exit. 

“That was nice of them,” Ginny murmurs when we’re safely out of earshot.

“Yes, it was. It’s easy to forget that some of them would have known him. I could have asked them about him.”

“You probably wouldn’t have liked most of what they had to say. Look, Snape’s waving at us.”

“Just on time.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” McGonagall snaps, glaring at Snape. “Now, you don’t have to do anything until we’ve woken him and then you say these words.” She hands me a very old, fragile piece of parchment and the script is so faded I have trouble making it out.

“I am the paradox.” I pause. “That’s it, that’s all I have to say?”

“What were you expecting?”

“I was worried it’d be something degrading - something like Mudblood or declaring staggering inferiority.”

“No, just those words. He’ll reply I am the claimant and I know that sounds bad, Hermione, but wasn’t chosen by me. You don’t have to say anything except declaring yourself the paradox. You speak first, and then he replies, then there should be some visible sign that the ritual is finished and then you can leave and go to bed. If you like we can set up a meeting for tomorrow, when you’ve slept, taken it all in. Shall we go ahead and schedule that?” I nod at her. Ginny steps up and takes my hand, and I look at her, letting her see the fear I daren’t show them. She puts an arm around me too, and keeps hold of me. My knees are shaking like leaves.

“Minerva, it’s time. We have to start.” Snape says, softly. Minerva waves us back, and Ginny moves me gently. They talk quietly for a brief moment, draw apart and draw their wands. The face one another, and the tips of their wands touch. 

“I am the lion.”

“And I am the serpent.”

“The War has been fought and it is time for Salazar to awaken, time for the paradox to be claimed.” Snape intones an incantation I don’t understand, and an arc of dazzling white light leaps from the still touching wand tips and jumps over the lake, touching a point near the shore closest to the rock face rising to the castle. There’s a muffled roar, the ground shakes beneath my feet and a black shape rises from where the light touches. It’s long, rectangular, and recognisably a tomb. As I stare, what must be the lid slides away and falls into the water with a splash. The white light splits into two now, one remaining as a harsh spotlight, the other streaming across the lake to where we’re standing. I walk forward, compelled by something, knowing that this is the right time to go forward. A shape pulls itself from the tomb, drops onto the path of light. I want to be sick. Fear bubbles in my throat. The figure begins to walk, and the tomb behind him slides back into the water. He’s very close now, and I can see him clearer. Being lit from underneath is doing him no favours - he looks like a skeleton. He stops in front of me, still on the path of light, and I know I’m being sized up, despite his eyes being in shadow. I force my vocal cords to work, unlock my jaw, and I meet his eyes.

“I am the paradox.” 

“I am the claimant.” The light disappears, and he steps onto the bank. I can’t see him without the light, and I’m grateful that this also means that he won’t be able to see me either. “You are her?” he asks me, his voice deep, rusty and terribly beautiful. 

“Obviously,” I say. I turn to Professor McGonagall, and find her in the darkness. “Can I go?” 

“Yes. 11am, my office.”

“Yes, Professor,” I say woodenly. I restrain myself enough not to run. I take Ginny by the arm, and make for the castle. Only once we’re inside and out of sight do I let go of her arm and run.


	5. Chapter 5

Salazar POV

I expected it to hurt. That was what I was concerned about, that it’d hurt. But it wasn’t painful, I barely felt it. It was like waking up. I heard two voices, a man and a woman, issuing from the darkness inside my head. I knew immediately that it was time. Suddenly, the blackness lifted and a rush of cold air greets me. I shield my face, look up, see the stars shining down. I stand, my legs stiff, my arms unused to pulling myself up, and I leave my tomb. A path of light is waiting for me, and on a bank opposite me, four silhouettes are waiting. Two stand in the middle of the group, wands joined, the light apparently issuing from them. One stands behind them all, and one stands on the front edges, right on the shoreline. I walk towards them, covering the distance as quickly as my legs will allow, hoping that the shaking isn’t visible. The closest figure eventually resolves itself into a young woman. She’s head to toe in what I can only assume is modern, current, Muggle clothing. Some trousers made of some odd material, some kind of woollen item on her top, and a strange black jacket. Her hair is tied back from her face, and dark eyes are gleaming at me. In the harsh light, she is pale. Her face seems to have some sort of apoplexy, and then she speaks.

“I am the paradox.” I can see her hands shaking, but for all that, her voice is steady. It is a pleasing voice, well-accented, a lilt to it.

“I am the claimant.” My own voice sounds like rusty metal screeching against a frozen pond. As soon as I respond, the light vanishes and the shore is plunged into darkness. I step onto the bank. “You are her?”

“Obviously,” she snaps. She turns to the two adults behind her. “May I go?”

“Yes. 11am, my office.”

“Yes, Professor.” She walks up the bank, taking the arm of the fourth silhouette who is all but invisible in the darkness. They walk towards the castle, my castle, leaving me with the teachers.

“Salazar Slytherin,” the man says, his voice bordering on the silken. “I am Severus Snape, Head of the Slytherin House, Potions Master and Deputy Headmaster. This is Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor House and our Senior Transfiguration Mistress. Welcome back to Hogwarts.”

“Thank you.” We stand rather awkwardly, surveying one another.

“Come up to the castle, Salazar. We will show you to your quarters, and you will meet Miss Granger properly in the morning.” It’s the woman who speaks, Professor McGonagall I think. It’s somewhat odd to be invited up to my own castle and informed of the running order of things. On the outside, it hasn’t changed at all, but as we go in, although there isn’t a stone out of place, the scars of battle are easily seen. Stones bear scorch marks, chips suits of armour bear curse marks, some of the portraits are in new frames and missing characters.

“What happened here?”

“Remember the prophecy spoke of War? Well, it happened, and this is where we fought the Final Battle - the Battle of Hogwarts. I can give you all the information on that to read, as well as a file on Hermione.”

“And Hermione is the paradox?”

“Yes. Miss Hermione Jean Granger, war hero and your paradox. I put together a file on her.” The Professor moves rapidly for a woman of her years. “Just enough for you to get a feel for her history, but not so much information to make things easy for you.”

“So you think it will be hard.”

“She has no inclination to go anywhere near you. You may as well know that here and now. For now, I leave you in the capable hands of Severus Snape.”

“Your rooms,” the Professor says, a few minutes later. “Here are the files. Hermione will be in Minerva’s office at 11 tomorrow morning.”

“Is it in the old place?”

“Yes. Tell the eagle Acid Pops, and try not to be late. Your password is Majoris.” The door behind us swings open, and he nods at me. “Goodnight, Salazar.”

“Goodnight, Professor.” I go into a suite of three connected rooms, two doors leading off the main sitting room. It’s furnished tastefully in neutral colours, white-washed walls, black sofas, mahogany wood. The bedroom co-ordinates, mahogany furniture striking against white walls and sheets.

I’m still dressed in the robes they buried me in - hopelessly worn and faded. In the bedroom, a note has been put on the wardrobe.

_I took the liberty of providing up to date Wizarding dress. S. Snape._

I open the cupboard, and am instantly relieved to notice that black robes and clothes are still the fashion for Wizards - confirming my suspicion that Miss Granger wore Muggle clothing to greet me. While Wizarding fashion appears to have altered very little, Muggle clothing has changed drastically. No woman from my time would ever have dressed so, Muggle or otherwise. Trousers! While I expected before my death that when they woke me, times would have changed, I would never have imagined this. I don’t even know how long I’ve been dead. Judging by her clothes, particularly the trousers, it could have been four or five centuries, perhaps. But judging by mine, perhaps it has only been one or two. Yet the girl had no fear on her when she met my eyes. I’d like to think it would take several centuries for my reputation to diminish enough for a mere chit of a girl to meet my eyes without fear. And she must know who I am, who I was, what I stood for. And yet she met my eyes and she did as she was told, as she had to, and then she turned away, walked away from me.

I wonder if there’s a man for her, tucked away somewhere. I put aside the History file for now, open the one marked Hermione. A picture of her is clipped to the first page, smiling and carefree. Several pictures come after it, and newspaper clippings. The first from when she was fourteen, apparently, during something called the Triwizard Tournament, saying she was apparently romantically involved with two of the contestants, a boy named Potter and an older one named Krum. A note included tells me it was the press rumour-mongering. The following year, she fought people known as Death Eaters and was hurt, apparently. A curse that nearly killed her, but apparently she had rendered the caster Silent, and it lost some of the power. The year after, fought again, Death Eaters again, this time escaping entirely unscathed. This article praises her as “an exceptional witch, who shows exemplary courage in the face of overwhelming odds.” An exceptional witch. Her face here is determined, sad yet resolute. A clip from only a week later, the funeral of the Headmaster. Tears are rolling down her cheeks unchecked, but other than that her face is devoid of emotion. She sits with the Potter boy, a pair called Weasley who are obviously siblings. The final photo is her battle worn, exhaustion lining her face. She’s filthy, battered, bleeding. She looks at least thirty, and is obviously sad despite the smile she’s summoned from somewhere. She helped win a war, spent a year on the run hunting for Horcruxes - the man with his soul in eighths. That was 2006. 2006. I have been dead for nearly one thousand years. At least that explains the drastic changes in Muggle dress and how she managed to look at me without shaking in her shoes.

The written pages tell me she’s eighteen, repeating her final year here after spending her seventh on the run. I can infer from that that she’s academic, intellectual, enjoys learning and classes. She’s Muggleborn, of course, didn’t know she was a witch until the letter came when she was eleven. She looked older than eighteen, but perhaps that was just the light. She sounded older, sounded tired of standing there and talking. Perhaps she despises me. Perhaps she despises me like I do her. I think she has no right to be here. All she is, is some aberration, a blip on the map: and this girl, this Mudblood, is my one chance at this second life and she shows no inclination whatsoever to fulfil that prophecy. From the Headmistress, I got the distinct impression that Hermione wasn’t going to fulfil it, no matter what I say or do. I got the impression she was only there because she had to be, because she had no choice in the matter. No, Miss Hermione Granger doesn’t like me. She managed to make that perfectly clear.

The next morning, I get up, walk around my rooms, remind myself that once more, I am alive. I stand in front of my mirror, naked, staring at my reflection. I look young. I have lost some years, I was much older than this when I died. I’d guess my age at perhaps late twenties, maybe going into the thirties. At least ten years her senior, then - I wonder if that will be a problem for me. I dress, go into the sitting room and find a breakfast tray there. Someone has provided bacon, scrambled eggs, a side of toast and a glass of pumpkin juice. A little clock on the mantelpiece chimes nine, and I spend the time making a leisurely breakfast and reading a newspaper that was sent up with the tray. Apparently nothing much has happened in the news, apart from a few trials of people involved in the war. The Potter boy from Hermione’s file is in here too, some junk piece about how he was seen in a meeting with some Quidditch people. It’s only now that I start wondering about this Harry Potter character, and I flip open the History file. Harry Potter, it transpires, is the man who defeated Voldemort - the Dark Wizard responsible for uncountable deaths, two Wars, the Battle of Hogwarts, apparently a descendent of mine, and the murder of Harry Potter’s parents, thus making the then one year old baby boy the only man capable of killing him. He destroyed the Horcruxes with the help of Hermione, a boy named Ron - he was in the pictures of the funeral. Finally, there was the Battle of Hogwarts and there my supposed descendent made a terrible mistake. How dare he fight here and almost destroy my life’s work? Perhaps there may be something said for destroying him - he seems to have been a little on the insane side. He did have some good ideas and some good principles, and I certainly admire his dedication: but it’s a shame he went about it in such a violently degraded way. No finesse. Apparently he had even less success at implementing Mudblood inferiority than I did - at least my House has remained pure, according to the file.

By this time, it’s nearly eleven, and I get up, swing a cloak around my shoulders and go out, heading for the Headmistress’s office. It hasn’t changed, the stone eagle the same as ever and the moving spiral behind it as dizzying as ever. As I get closer to the top, a raised female voice filters down to me.

“Take a running jump!”

“Hermione!”

“I’m sorry, Professor, it just happens to be how I feel! I am not fulfilling this goddamn prophecy. That man is vile. I know what he damn well thinks of me.”

“How do you know?”

“Oh please, Snape. This is Salazar Slytherin. If he’d had his way, he would never have allowed me to even come to Hogwarts. I would be - well, who knows what I’d be doing? I hate him and I can assure you, I will never allow him to come within a yard of me, never mind allow him to fuck me. He’s repulsive.” Enraged by her attitude, by her assertion of hatred and by her entire attitude to me, I sprint the last few steps, and throw the door open. She swings around and her eyes are blazing.

“If you had no interest in me, if you hate me like you say, then why agree, why allow me to be resurrected? You simply had to refuse to say the words!” Her eyes are the colour of cinnamon and they flash at me.

“I wanted to look into the eyes of the man whose hate started a war. I wanted to look at the man who would have had me die an excruciatingly painful death.”

“I believe you are confusing me with the man they call Voldemort.”

“No,” she hisses at me. I try and ignore the two professors, both of whom are gaping at us. “I know what you tried to do - you tried to make Hogwarts exclusive to Purebloods, to deny me and the hundreds like me the magical education we have a right to! Tom Riddle, the man who became Voldemort, he just picked up on the values laid down by you. You made it happen and you are responsible for the people who died.” All I can see in her eyes is ice-cold contempt and hot fury. “I wonder what you would have done with me, if Godric had been weaker, if I had been born into your world. Would you have had me kneel before you, Salazar? Declare my devotion, made me declare that I was grateful to you for saving me from needing to bear the burden of magical training?” I eye her, reluctantly impressed.

“You are sharp, Mudblood.” Even as the teachers gasp, she draws her wand.

“Langlock!” she snarls, and I clutch my throat. The bitch glued my tongue to the roof of my mouth. “You will not call me Mudblood!” she screams. Snape points his wand at me and says the counter-curse, but she hasn’t finished yet. “I will not stand to be called that; I will not allow you to call me that!”

“You won’t allow it? You won’t allow it? Girl, I am no shying first year, no boy you can order! I’ll call you what I please!” I roar at her, seize her jacket lapels and slam her against the nearest wall. I ignore McGonagall’s furious scream that I let her go at once. There is not a flick of fear on Hermione’s face, just her lips drawn back in a snarl of fury.

“Oh, please, Salazar! Do you really suppose I can be scared into submission? I’m not one of your stupid, shivering whores who you can intimidate into bed. I’ve been tortured by greater men than you. If you want even a hope of living this time, I suggest you learn a few manners.”

“I have no wish to tumble into bed and mate with a Mudblood.” I growl, wrapping a hand around her throat. Next thing I know, I’ve been physically repelled by a charge of heat that ran through her very skin. Even as I stare at her in shock, she smiles triumphantly.

“Fine. You see, I know this is your last chance. If I don’t allow it, you go back to being dead in the damn ground, and I walk away to live my life. See if I care: I’d cheerfully dance on your grave, Salazar.” She steps around me and walks from the office. Rage is burning inside me: never before have I been so disrespected by some Mudblood chit of a girl. The Headmistress gets her feet and glares at me.

“I’m going after her.” She hurries out, and thirty seconds later, we can hear Hermione’s screams of rage.

“Well, that did not go well.”

“She’s an arrogant, jumped-up Mudblood bitch who needs to learn her damn place.” I shout at him.

“You made a couple of fundamental mistakes in your little exchange there. Nothing annoys our beloved little Gryffindor wildcat more than being called Mudblood.” He surveys me. “Do you want her?” he asks me, bluntly.

“No.” He smirks at me.

“Which means yes. Even if it’s only because she’s assured you it won’t be happening, you want her. She isn’t just going to fall into a bed with you and start having sex. She may - and I really stress the may - allow you to seduce her, but it’ll be damn hard work and you’ll need to be very careful about how you go about it. Not calling her a Mudblood would be very good start.”

“Then pray tell me how I should go about seducing the little chit, if you know so much.”

“She’s no little chit, Salazar, you must have noticed that. She’s a woman, and Hermione doesn’t want a docile man. As much as she’ll be loath to admit it, she’ll admire your passion and your fire; she’ll be drawn to your dominance. She’ll enjoy fighting you and even now she’ll be itching to come back here and have it out with you. You make her angry and she craves it.”

“So your advice is not to call her Mudblood but to make her angry?”

“Challenge her, Salazar. Demonstrate some of the magic you have, show her your power.” I bare my teeth at him.

“She couldn’t handle my power, Professor. It would terrify her.”

“I believe one requires a degree of innocence to feel fear, Salazar,” he says, dryly. “And it has been a very long time since Hermione Granger lost her last shred of innocence.”

After that, all I can do is leave, go back to my rooms before lunch. I’m still raging, but I don’t see her anywhere along the way and therefore can’t have it out with her to relieve the tension. Pacing restlessly in my sitting room, I glance out of the window, seeing the Forest spread out before me. It’s thriving, and beside it, I spot the Giant Squid floating lazily on the lake - or a descendant, anyway. Nice to know that little family flourished. A flash of light by the trees catches my eye, and I spot a couple by the eaves of the trees. Even from here, I can tell it’s her. She’s with a boy, and judging by all the pacing, she’s still very, very annoyed. She’s with a boy, who appears to be trying to calm her down. He’s having precious little success, but he eventually reaches out and catches hold of her and pulling her into his arms for a hug. I snort and turn away, resuming my pacing.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione

Having left McGonagall and failed to find Ginny, I storm down the marble stairs, aiming for the grounds and the solitude of the Forest. Halfway across the entrance hall, I meet Joe, who catches and steadies me.

“Whoa, Hermione.”

“Sorry,” I snap, still furious, and not meaning it at all.

“Interesting tone. Need company?”

“Seen Ginny?” I ask, a little confusedly. Thankfully, he follows my train of thought.

“She called a Prefects meeting and kicked me out for being a distraction.”

“She didn’t tell me.”

“It’s about you, idiot,” he says, smiling.

“Oh. Can I vent on you?”

“Of course. Come on, lets go walk around the grounds, get some fresh air in you.” I’m not sure what made me ask him, but I’m glad he accepted. I know I need the company and I’ve always liked Joe, who comes across as cool, calm and intelligent. We end up on the eaves of the Forest, him leaning on a tree and me pacing up and down in front of him, getting more and more worked up.

“That rat bastard son of a bitch called me a Mudblood, thinks he can fucking intimidate me into bed by insulting me. How dare he call me that? What gives him that right?”

“Uh, nothing -”

“And another thing, he had the fucking nerve to manhandle me. Does he really think that he has the right to do that and that I’m really that easily intimidated.”

“Clearly you’re not -”

“My God, I knew he’d be bad, but I never imagined he’d be so fucking arrogant. God, I’ve never felt so damn stupid!”

“Hermione, you’re not -”

“He really is such an unbelievable arsehole. He really is something else, I don’t understand how on earth Godric and the others didn’t hex him into oblivion!” This time, when I pause for breath, he doesn’t try and say anything. He puts out an arm, catches me, and yanks me into a hug. I fall into a surprisingly solid chest.

“Hermione, shut up for five seconds. Calm down, don’t give him satisfaction of knowing that he’s got to you and wound you up.”

“I’m not wound up,” I snap. “I’m really, really pissed off.”

“Well then, don’t let him know you’re pissed off.” I exhale almost painfully, and just sag against his chest. I’m pretty sure that if he wasn’t physically supporting me, I’d just sag all the way to the floor. It’s nice, actually, feeling his heart beating steadily under my cheek. He’s a good foot taller than me and he’s so very warm and solid. I put my arms around his waist and just hang onto him. He doesn’t say anything, just holds me closer.

And no matter how much I try and deny it, ignore it, my encounter with Salazar has left me frustrated to fever-pitch. I know this point, I’ve been at before, and I also know exactly what relieves the tension. I need sex. And luckily, something very interesting is happening against my waist.

“Should I acknowledge it, or would you rather ignore it?” He speaks first, before I can string together a joke.

“Only acknowledge it if it’s a lust thing. If it goes any deeper than that, ignore it.”

“It’s a lust thing, triggered by how damn sexy you are when you’re angry.” I look up at him, smiling. I stand on tiptoe and whisper in his ear.

“Here, now.” His eyes spark, and he releases me from the hug, only to grab my hand and pull me behind him into the trees. When he decides we’re far enough in, he stops, turning to me and backing me into a tree.

“Say no,” he murmurs, tracing my lip with his thumb.

“Yes.” His lips crash onto mine and thank God it’s possessive, thank God he’s rough and controlling. He tears his lips off mine and, and I feel his teeth on my pulse. I tip my head back and surrender to it. “God, I need it to hurt.” His grunt tells me he heard, and I feel the bite on my pulse. I cry out, feel his smile, and his hands go to the hem of my t-shirt. Moments later, warm hands cup my breasts and I arch into them. I find his waistband, slide my hand inside, find him already hard and ready for me. I wrap my hand around him and he groans, lips returning to mine, hands convulsing on my breasts. Suddenly they’re gone, but even as I make a noise of protest, his hands have clutched into my shirt and ripped it down the middle. With my arms trapped in the remnants, he pulls my breasts free of my bra and his fingers are busy on my nipples. I cry out, grip him harder, am rewarded by a moan and his hips thrusting into my hands. He grapples with my jeans, tossing them to the side once I’m out of them, and he drops to his knees. My panties are gone and his mouth replaces them. My head falls back at the immediate stab of pleasure and I come apart under his touch. Before I’ve stopped shuddering, he’s back on his feet. He frees himself from his jeans, and lifts me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, and as he slips inside me, I cry out. I hold his shoulders desperately, fisting his shirt in my hands, and feeling his teeth and stubble scrape against my neck. I can feel the tightening in my belly, as he bites down again and his hands flex on my legs, I come. I know he follows me over because of the noises, the way his hands tighten even more on my legs. We stay together for some time, waiting for heartbeats to level out. I feel the cool air dry the sweat on my body.

Our reverie is shattered by the sound of approaching footsteps. He steps away from me, and I pick up my clothes, scrambling back into underwear, pulling up my jeans. He tidies himself, repairs my shirt. I do what I can for my hair, and as I drop my hands down, a couple of fifth years come into sight. Neither of us need telling what’s about to happen - after all, we’ve just been doing it ourselves.

“This the Forbidden Forest,” Joe snaps, “Out you go, kids.”

“Then what are you doing here?” the boy says, cheekily.

“Chasing out brats. Lose ten points each and off you go.” We walk behind them to the edge of the Forest and watch them make their way back to the castle. He looks down at me. “Well, if I may say so, that was pretty fucking spectacular.”

“Damn right it was.”

“Well, we should go for lunch, replace some lost calories.”

“Promise it won’t get weird,” I say, laughing.

“I promise it won’t get weird and I promise I won’t fall in love with you.”

“Good to know,” I say, and he smiles at me.

“I know it won’t happen again, Hermione, but it was really damn good and I’ll be available if you ever need to rant at someone.”

“Thank you, Joe. I appreciate it. And I appreciate the really good sex, too.” We go into the Great Hall together, and spot Ginny halfway down one of the tables and go and join her, dropping into seats opposite. She looks up from the paper she’s flicking through and smiles.

“Hey you two. Where have you been?”

“Here and there,” Joe responds, reaching for a plate of sandwiches. “How’d the meeting go?”

“OK. We revised the duty rota, so here’re copies.”

“I’m only on one night a week now,” I say, tapping it. “and that’s Wednesday and it’s Hall supervision. Might as well just put me in Greenhouse Five with the venomous plants, that is how few people are in Hall on Wednesday to work.”

“You’ve got shit to deal with,” she says, pouring herself some juice. “How’d it go this morning?”

“Oh he called me a Mudblood and various other charming names, so in return I said I’d dance on his grave.”

“Pretty well then.”

“Yeah, not too bad.”

“He just came in with the staff,” she says, looking down the table. I take a napkin from a pile, Transfigure it into a cloth, put some sandwiches, cocktail sausages and a chicken leg into it, and bundle them up.

“Well, this has been nice. See you later.” I go back out into the grounds, find a bench under a tree and settle down with a book. I start on my lunch, but I’m not permitted to sit in peace for very long.

“So. Now you can’t even stand being in the same room as me.”

“It’s difficult to enjoy food with the stench.” I don’t look up from the book.

“Did you enjoy being his whore, girl?” I don’t bother asking him how he knows.

“Jealous, Salazar?”

“Jealous? Jealous of him fucking you?”

“Then why follow me, why bring it up? See, Salazar, I can read people just as well as you, just in very different ways. And I know you’re jealous and - ah yes, there is a little bit of fear creeping in now, because knowing how easily I gave myself to him makes you realise that it is actually going to involve some effort on your part to convince me that you’re actually worth it and not a total arsehole. And that really pisses you off because before, women were perfectly willing to fall into your bed, if not downright eager.” I stand up, face him and watch the ugly flush spreading over his face, feel the triumph as I know I’ve got to him.

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Me? I’m Hermione Granger, Slytherin. I’m your worst nightmare and I am the person who will bring you crashing down. And I am going to enjoy it.” I realise with an electric thrill that I’ve pushed too far and he’s way past fury now. I’m also aware that a crowd has gathered, and I look around to see if Ginny and Joe are here. I nearly miss the tell-tale twitch towards his wand, but I get my Shield Charms up just in time. His eyes widen, but when I Stun him, he isn’t prepared. Either he isn’t used to people firing back at him or he just didn’t think I’d dare. I leave him there, go back into the castle, and head for the Common Room. My heart is pounding, and there are knot of nerves hot and heavy in my stomach. I know that this time I’ve gone too far, that Stunning him is a hell of a lot worse than telling him I wouldn’t care if he died. I’ve targeted his pride now, and seriously hurt it. I make the Tower, give the password to the portrait and immediately retreat to my room. I gather together my books, wanting to get Snape’s essay out the way first, and there’s a nasty translation piece that Vector wants done for next week. I’ve just got set up and have written Snape’s essay title when Ginny bursts through my door.

“You Stunned Salazar Slytherin!” she shrieks. I start on my introduction, and nod.

“He tried to hex me first.”

“Yeah, well, McGonagall found him on the grass, naturally she brought him round, and apparently he’s now down in Snape’s dungeon raging about you.”

“He probably is.”

“Don’t you care?”

“Not particularly.”

“But Hermione, you can’t just go around Stunning people!”

“I didn’t - I told you, he tried to hex me first. Look, Ginny, I’m trying to work.”

“Oh. Sorry. Just natural shock at you Stunning Slytherin.” I roll my eyes and she drops down onto my bed.

“Ginny. If you’re going to stay, at least go and get some work.”

“I heard from Mum,” she says, quietly.

“When?” I say, instantly alert. “Nothing came for you this morning.”

“It came after lunch. The owl was in my dormitory window. She probably knew breakfast was a bad time.”

“Have you read it?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And, somewhat predictably, she’s going batty. She was all set to march up here, but Dad persuaded her otherwise. Here,” she says, tossing the envelope over. “Leave that essay for five minutes and read it.” I put my quill down and open the letter, and scan the lines.

_Dear Ginny_

_I looked up all this prophecy business. I’m not happy, but having looked into it thoroughly, I see there’s no choice. Minerva wrote to me yesterday and informed me that he’s officially out of the ground and walking around - and apparently it isn’t going too well. Your father said I can’t just go storming into the castle and telling him that he’s not to make our Hermione miserable. Bill knows, I’m afraid - apparently Gringotts had to be informed for financial reasons and he was the man assigned. I had to tell him about Hermione - and he was less than helpful. He mentioned something about writing to her with some creative curses if Slytherin steps out of line. I told him not to be so silly._

_You let me know at once if Slytherin does anything even remotely inappropriate. The one thing I am clinging to now is that according to the prophecy, she has to consent willingly, so he can’t hurt her that way in order to live. But if he tries, I am trusting you - even encouraging you - to do whatever you must to stop him. That was something else Bill mentioned. He apparently has many creative ways to punish a man who tries to hurt our Hermione._

_Now, tell Hermione she can write to me any time - and if she ever needs me, I’ll be there in a flash and never mind what your father says. Ron will simply have to take it and I will see to it that he is sensible. If Hermione would like, I shall tell him and Harry._

_The family is well. George is coping as well as we could expect and is even talking about going back to the store soon. Valerie is coping well as manager, but when I went in to see her and update her, it doesn’t feel the same. He said he’d write soon. Ron is busy doing nothing. Apparently he has plans and these plans will eventually come to fruition. Your father is well, Charlie has an infected burn but is apparently otherwise fine. Bill is well, Percy came over yesterday and there was minimal awkwardness. I really feel that soon it will be better again. Everything else is fine._

_Mum_

I hand the letter back, smiling. So typically Molly, worrying and yet positive in the same letter. Ginny is watching me closely.

“So?”

“She can’t tell Ron without telling Harry, and I’ve already said that I will not tell Harry until you’ve seen him. I will tell the boys after the weekend -”

“No, you can’t wait that long. They’d both be upset by that.”

“But you should have time with Harry without me clouding it.”

“We can and shall have that time,” she says, firmly. “But either you write to both him and Ron, and tell him now, or I will drag him to this castle and it will be the first thing I say to him. Harry will come up right away, and then he and I can have whatever time we want. But you’re coming first this time.” I swallow the lump in my throat.

“You’re the best, Ginny,” I mutter, and she smiles. She hops off my bed and comes over to give me a hug.

“I know. It’s natural talent. Now, put aside the essay that isn’t due in for another four days, and write to the boys.”

“Will you write to Ron?”

“I will.” I hand her parchment and quill, and she borrows my Arithmancy book to lean on and returns to lie on her front on my bed. “What do you want me to say?”

“Just give him the general gist of what’s happened and is happening. And tell him I Stunned him, it might help to calm him down a little.”

“I’m still struggling to take that one in.”

_Dear Harry_

_I have news, and if I don’t tell you right now, I’ll lose my nerve and Ginny will be mad at me. Things have been happening here. A prophecy - yes, another one, I know - has emerged regarding Salazar Slytherin. Unsurprisingly, perhaps, it isn’t good. The prophecy states that after a great War between Light and Dark has been fought, Slytherin would get one more chance at life, and one month to achieve it. Well, the War is the War we have fought, and Salazar is now awake. We weren’t left with a great deal of choice. The prophecy left us with no choice. So he’s awake and alive. He has one month to make it remain that way, or back to the grave he goes._

_So, how does he get another chance at life? He has to claim a paradox. I’ll just quote right from the prophecy here as it really says it better than I could. “This shall be a girl with parents not gifted, acclaimed afar and near as a hero of Light and Gold, and she will have been branded. She will be his greatest enemy, as he shall be hers. He shall be her greatest lover, and she will be his greatest challenge. Should she not consent within the month of resurrection, then Slytherin must return to his grave.”_

_By now you should be thinking that that sounds familiar, and you’d be right. I’m the paradox. I am the girl Salazar has to claim. And by claim, they mean have sex with. I have to have consensual sex with Salazar Slytherin. And apparently it’d be pretty phenomenal sex. So, that’s the situation we’re in and he’s currently roaming the castle and annoying me a great deal. He’s been awake for a day, we’re resurrected him yesterday, I’ve had one day with him, he’s called me a Mudblood multiple times and slammed me against a wall. Oh, and I Stunned him after he tried to hex me._

_Anyway, there’s something you need to promise me. And I mean promise and not just say you will. I know nothing I can say will stop you rampaging up here and probably making a scene, and I think I’d actually like to see you. But you have to promise me that once you get all the rampaging out of your system, I want you to spend some quality, uninterrupted and untainted time with Ginny. I want you to forget all about my problems and just spend time with her. And you have to promise me that, or I’ll lock you both up. Anyway, I hope you’re well._

_Lots of love,_

_Hermione._

_P.S: I will deal with that tapestry as soon as I can. I’m sure if I speak to McGonagall, she’ll let me sneak off one weekend. H._

I finish my letter and carry on with my essay until Ginny finishes hers. She agrees to post them and vanishes off, probably before I can change my mind, which I do more or less the moment she’s shut the door. Goddamn, shouldn’t have done that.


	7. Chapter 7

Salazar

How dare she.

How _dare_ she.

How does she have the gall, the sheer insolence to goddamn stand before me and Stun me? And then to just leave me on the ground like I was a man she beat in some back alley duel. For Merlin’s sake, I had to be revived by Professor McGonagall, who seemed not to really care that Hermione Stunned me and left me on the ground. Snape marched me off before I could storm up to her rooms and have it out with her. I’m not even sure what I would have done if Snape hadn’t stopped me, if I’d had the chance to get at her. I don’t think it would have ended well, but all I could see was blinding red rage. Right now I’m pacing in front of Snape’s desk, while he tries to ignore me and get on with marking essays. Finally, sick of him pretending I’m not here, I slam my fists onto his desk.

“How dare she.”

“For God’s sake, Salazar, you’re beginning to sound like a broken record. She dared because that’s what Hermione does. You piss her off, she takes a shot. And I’m sure she was provoked.”

“You’re just going to sit there and defend her?”

“That depends. What did you do before she Stunned you?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh, yes you did, Salazar. She might have one hell of a temper on her, but she doesn’t run around Stunning people for no reason and without provocation. So, what did you do.”

“I called her out on something, we traded insults, and then I might have tried to hex her.”

“Then take what you get and live with it,” he snaps. “Hermione Granger is not just one of your witches from way back when. Hermione Granger is a very talented, very powerful, and very clever woman from this day and age and she both can and will respond to anything even remotely like a threat with positive action. She will not shy away from you, she will not cower before you, and she will not back away from a fight with you. She has fought a war, Salazar; she knows what it is to fight. She has become accustomed to fighting, and it’s all she knows now. She’s a soldier, first and foremost, and that’s the tragedy of it. She shouldn’t be. But she is, and if you think that she won’t respond to an attack, then you’re an idiot. You attack, she doesn’t defend, she strikes. Now, if I were you, I’d calm down before leaving here and seeing her again. You can bet that she’s crosser than you, and nobody should ever get in the way of a cross Hermione.” I open my mouth but he holds up a hand. “Trust me, Salazar. The reason I am alive today is because she is a stubborn, willful, know-it-all, highly intelligent brat. And she might actually hate you more than she hated Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“Who is Bellatrix Lestrange?” I ask, although the name sounds familiar. Severus rolls his eyes.

“Did you read the file? She was Voldemort’s right hand woman. She is the woman who tortured Hermione last year when they were caught during their hunt for Horcruxes. And believe me; Hermione Granger hated Bellatrix more than she has ever hated anyone. Just stay away from her for a few days, let her carry on having classes and working in peace. That’ll calm her down. Stay away from her; spend the time getting to know the castle again.” I slump into the seat opposite his desk and he sits back and looks at me.

“I only have a month, Severus. One month, less a day and I go back in the ground if she doesn’t agree. Do I have time to spend a few days getting to know the castle again?”

“Well, even if you don’t, you’ve already shot yourself in the foot. She’s not going to want to see you for a few days.” He glances through an essay before he speaks again, scribbling a comment at the end. “Do you really despise her so much?” he asks.

“She has no right to be here.”

“Why? Why are you still clinging to that? She’s already shown you she’s powerful. How many people did you know back then who could physically repel you by running a magical charge through their skin?”

“Nobody, but it’s not about her power.”

“Then what’s it about?”

“She’s an aberration! For Merlin’s sake, she shouldn’t even exist. Her parents aren’t magical, so where’s it come from?”

“Where did any magic come from, originally? We can say we’re as pure-blooded as we want. Somewhere in our ancestry, someone was born to non-magical parents and it just happened. If it didn’t, we’d all be dead, magic would have died out.”

“She’s not a proper witch.”

“She’s the best student this castle has had in generations. Your argument that she is not a proper witch is complete nonsense. Like I said, she saved my life, and plenty of other people would tell you they owe her theirs. Harry Potter himself considers himself in her debt and that’s the boy who defeated Voldemort. And if you really want to get yourself on Hermione’s Saved People list, then you’re going to have to try and get over this Pureblood nonsense.” I glare at him. I see his point, and even I have to admit that I’ve been impressed by her power.

“I cannot respect a person who I haven’t seen solid proof of power from. It’s all well and good that she managed to catch me off guard once. It’s all well and good you saying she’s powerful. It’s great that you say that you and many others owe their lives to her. But I have no proof of that. Until I do, I cannot respect her.” He sighs in exasperation, but he doesn’t try and push the issue.

“Well, take my word on one thing then - stay out of her way until maybe Wednesday. Yes, it’s Sunday now, so I should think by Wednesday she’ll have cooled down. Give her till Wednesday, and then try and have an actual conversation with her without jumping down each other’s throats.”

He sends me away after that, pointing out that he has an awful lot of work to do and my presence is disrupting it. I take his advice, return to my room and choose a book to read. When I put it aside when it’s time for dinner, I realize I have no idea what the book was about or even what I’d read. I’m not even sure I turned the pages after a certain point. I go down for dinner, sit next to Snape, and ignore the stares of the occasionally too-curious student. She comes in late, hurrying to a place by the red-head and smiling. The bag she drops is obviously full of books, and after she’s piled her plate with food, she pulls one out and starts an earnest discussion with the red-head. Watching her is fascinating. She seems absolutely unaware of the world – her entire, absolute focus is the book in her hands and the conversation she’s having about it. The red-head has to remind her about her dinner, and she eats impatiently, as if food was an inconvenience she could do without. As soon as she’s made a decent meal, and the red head has nodded in satisfaction, she starts talking again, flicking through pages at lightning speed. I’d love to hear the conversation. I wonder what the subject matter is, wonder if it’s for work or pleasure.

It’s only when I’m back in my room that I realize that for the first time, I didn’t think about her with any animosity. I was simply curious about her book and what she was doing with it. It’s common ground, at least. Perhaps we could manage some civilized conversation about books.

I take Snape’s advice, and spend a few days getting to know the castle again. On the Wednesday, I find myself standing outside the library. The librarian looks up as I come in, and I find myself staring into the eyes of a woman who looks not unlike a vulture.

“Can I explore?” I ask.

“Do as you will,” she says, with a disdainful sniff. “Just do it quietly and respect the books.” I refrain from pointing out that I built this library, and a fair few of the books are probably mine. My first attempt at diplomacy. I wander into the shelves and lose myself in History of Magic, finding myself a book that apparently encompasses not only the founders but the succeeding few hundred years. It’ll be good to brush up on what I’ve missed. I find a table with a chair pulled up to it. It’s unoccupied, and I see no bags or books to indicate that someone has already claimed it and gone to look for others. I settle down to read, and at first I skip over the parts about us. I already know all that. I’m interested in what happens after us.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione

He’s sitting at my table in the library. It’s such a shock to see anyone there, I’m almost to it when I look up and notice him. He doesn’t look up at me, and I realize he’s so absorbed he’s clueless to my presence. I retreat a little, so I can duck behind the adjacent shelves and get beside him. I want to watch without being watched, turn the tables on him for once and make him the vulnerable one. 

I watch him silently, staring through the shelves. It’s not like I can ask him to get up and move, the table isn’t mine by some inalienable right. I don’t reserve it. It’s just where I always sit, and most people know it. It’s never been taken, never. And now he’s sitting in it. Half into the alcove so nobody looking for books has to bother me, lamp over it for the best light. Damn. I wonder if he chose it for the same reasons I did. I’m not completely unreasonable – I doubt he knew it was my own favourite table. Not even he could be that aggravating – could he? The suspicion sneaks in, but I try and stamp on it. I have to try and be diplomatic. I look for another table, literally comb the library, but nothing. All the other tables are fully occupied, and I curse whatever suddenly made Hogwarts students simultaneously studious. I return to my position behind the shelves, and chew my lip as I try and decide what to do. I could get out the books I need and go back to the common room. I could possibly stand somewhere and copy out the passages I need.

It’s when I suggest this to myself that I realise exactly how ridiculous that is. Coward, my conscience remarks, and I scowl at the books in front of me. I’m not a coward. Then why not just go up to him and ask if you can sit down? Why not indeed. I decide to gather together the books I’ll need for the latest Potions essay before I ask him. He might be less inclined to let me sit if I’m going to wander off immediately. 

Loaded with five tomes about the potential best way to brew Potions at a full moon, I gather my courage and my will, and walk up to the table. 

“Salazar?” He jumps visibly. “Sorry. There’s nowhere else – do you mind if I sit down and work here?” There’s a tense few moments of silence. He looks at me for a while, and I adjust the books in my arms.

“Certainly,” he says, and his tone is almost courteous. I spread my books out, pull out parchment, quill and ink from my bag, find my Potions notebook and copy the title onto the head of the roll. He wants ten inches on this subject, and even I’m a little doubtful that I’ll be able to summon ten inches on the full moon’s effect on Potions. He lets me write in silence until I make it to the eight inch mark. He speaks so suddenly I jump, and ink a long line off the edge of the parchment. I remove it before answering.

“What are you doing?”

“My Potions homework. The full moon’s effects on Potions.”

“May I see?”

“May I finish it first?” I ask, fighting to make my tone light and friendly. He nods, and returns to his book. There’s one already at his elbow, and I return his efforts at conversation.

“What are you reading?”

“Learning my history. You miss rather a large amount when you’re dead for nearly a millennia.” I smile a little, despite myself, and return to my essay. As soon as I put my quill down and stretch my arms over my head, he puts a hand onto the parchment, looking at me with a quizzical look. I nod, and start gathering my texts together to return them to the shelves. I leave him reading it over, and by the time I’ve gotten back, he’s put it down.

“Well?”

“It’s very good,” he concedes, and I recognise it as an attempt to build bridges. I know why he’s trying, of course – I know what he has at stake. I wonder how hard it is for him to speak to me like this, as an equal. But I allow him to try, instead of being biting.

“Thank you.”

“You did get something wrong though. You mixed up Sleepless Nights and Dreamless Sleep – Sleepless Night is the one affected by the phases of the moon, not Dreamless Sleep.” I pull the work towards me and see he’s right. I’ve written them down wrong. I frown. That isn’t like me. It’s around the eight inch mark, so I decide in my own head to blame his interruption for that one. I make the correction, and then look up at him.

“Thanks.”

“Not a problem, Miss Granger.” There’s a fairly tense silence, and I decide the moment has come for me to take my leave. It must be almost time for dinner anyway.

“I better be going. I have to go back to the common room and put my things away before dinner.” I stand up, and he gets to his feet too. It’s such an old fashioned gesture. 

“I will, perhaps, see you at dinner.”

“Yes, I suppose you will. Thank you for letting me work here.” We sort of nod at each other and then I turn and walk up to my common room slowly. Ginny is just coming down the stairs to the dormitories as I come in and she calls to me.

“Hermione! I haven’t seen you since lunch. Been hiding in the library?”

“I finished Snape’s essay. I was just going to run up and dump my bag, change out of uniform. Wait for me?”

“Sure.” I run up the stairs, change quickly into jeans and a jumper, and run back down to join Ginny, pulling my hair back into a plait as I join her. “So, did you manage all ten inches?” I snort with laughter before I can stop myself. “Oh, don’t be immature,” she says, smiling.

“Sorry. Yeah, I did, but it was a bit of a struggle.” We both descend into splutters, and manage to control ourselves enough to walk into the Hall without sniggering all over the place, and we go over to our table and sit down together. Ginny takes care of the drinks and potatoes, and I serve us both chicken wrapped in bacon. I know he’s at the Staff table, I can feel him staring at me. I deliberately don’t look up, deliberately avoid meeting his eyes. I’m not sure why, but I feel like I couldn’t bear to look into his eyes. Ginny gives my shoulder a shove and I look up at her, startled.

“You’ve been staring at that chicken breast for five minutes. Are you going to eat something?” I mechanically cut and chew, cut and chew, and yet she’s still staring at me.

“What?”

“OK, what’s going on? You’ve been distracted since you got back from the library, you haven’t looked up from your plate all dinner and normally I can’t get you to shut up about whatever book you currently disagree with. Not a criticism, just a fact. You haven’t said a word since we sat down. Now, what’s wrong?” I look around, lower my voice.

“I saw Salazar in the library.” She promptly looks over at him.

“He appears unharmed.”

“He is.”

“Well, what happened?”

“Nothing. Well, he was sitting at my table, and everywhere else was full. I asked if I could sit down and work while he read there, and he agreed. So I sat down, wrote my Potions essay and he learnt about history. He asked to read it when I was done and I let him. He pointed out I’d mixed up two of the Potions – only because he interrupted me partway through, may I say – and then I thanked him and left.” Her eyes are almost on stalks, and her mouth is actually hanging open.

“And after all those infractions on your space and routine – the table, the interrupting – he’s still alive?”

“Yes, Ginny, he’s still alive. We managed to have a reasonable, civilised conversation together and while it was brief, it was civil.”

“So what’s the but?”

“I know very well that he’s being nice because it’s in his interests to be nice. He has life at stake, and in order to get that life, he has to seduce me. He hasn’t changed, Ginny. He hasn’t, and the only reason he’s being nice is because he needs to be, and he’s found the self-control somewhere to try and convince me that he has. But I can’t look at him without knowing what he thinks of me, without knowing what he would have me do if he had any say in it. I can’t forgive him, and one civilised conversation isn’t going to be enough to make me.”


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione

The weekend rolls around without Salazar and I having had any other contact, and midway through Saturday afternoon, I’m standing on the steps of the castle, waiting for Ginny and Harry to get back from Hogsmeade. I can’t wait to see him, and I’m pretty confident that he’ll help me shoulder at least some of the burden. 

“Hermione!” I wave at him, and start down the steps towards him. He drops Ginny’s hand and runs towards me and I open my arms to him. He lifts me off my feet and swings me round and I laugh for the first time in a week. 

“Oh, Harry, you idiot.” 

“It’s damn good to see you.” He puts me down and surveys me. “You’re too pale.”

“And you sound like Molly.” He pulls me into a hug and I bury my face in his shoulder. He’s so solid, so warm, and his jumper is soft against my cheek. 

“Come on. Let’s you, me and Ginny go up to the Room and all have a catch up about this Salazar business. Ah – I did as you ordered and spent the time with Ginny first. And we didn’t discuss you once, did we?”

“We did not.”

“Alright. Alright, let’s go.” I see Salazar coming out of the dungeon corridor as we walk past, Harry’s arm around my shoulders. He stops, and I feel him watch us go up the stairs, but I don’t turn back to meet his eyes. Getting Harry past him in safety is the priority. I know Harry too well to point him out to him, and evidently Ginny agrees. I know she sees him, but she deliberately claims Harry’s attention to tell him that she has to go to a Heads meeting with McGonagall and Joe. He kisses her goodbye and takes me upstairs. The Room gives us an open fire and a comfortable sofa, and we bundle in together. I burrow my head into the front of his jumper and stay there until I’m absolutely sure I’m not going to start crying all over him. 

“Now, Mione. Tell me everything.” I tell him everything, right from the moment of finding out about the prophecy and right up to Wednesday and my doubts about his sincerity. I tell him about the guilt I cannot shake because the decision I make makes the decision about whether or not he lives and that I’m not sure I could live with another life on my conscience but am absolutely sure I could never sleep with him. How I am defiant to his face and brave and determined, but inside I just want to scream and cry and run away. How I’m afraid of what people will say about me when I have made my choice, because whatever choice I make, I will be judged for it. I tell him everything and he lets me say it all and then holds me until I stop shaking. Then he puts me away from him and frames my face in his hands.

“Right, now listen. You are not a bad person, whether you choose to do this or not. I’m not going to tell you that people won’t talk because of course they will. But fuck them, Mione. I learnt the hard way that if you let the comments of every other idiot who thinks they have an opinion on your life affect your life, you’ll just end up bitter and miserable. It’ll be hard for a while, but people forget, and get distracted by the next thing to come along. If you can’t forget who he is and you can’t sleep with him, then you don’t have to. Nobody who loves you will care.”

“Oh no? Then how’s Ron taking this?”

“Ah.”

“Harry. Tell me the truth now.”

“Not well. He is not taking it well.” I roll my eyes.

“What did he do?”

“He wigged out. He ranted for half an hour about how you’re too good to have to go through this and then went to Romania to visit Charlie and ‘pick up some decent curses’. “

“Oh my God.”

“Yep.”

“So, have you heard about how that’s coming along?”

“Charlie wrote to me. Said he was keeping him until he’d calmed himself down a bit and was then going to give him a couple of good ones and let him come here.”

“Harry, that’s very flattering, but I don’t need either you or Ron to wade in all guns blazing to fight for my honour. If anything that’ll probably make it worse. If I can get Salazar to see me as an equal, I may have more chance to convince him that Muggleborns have the same rights Purebloods do.”

“He still believes all that?”

“Voldemort looks positively tolerant beside him. He thinks I have no right to be in this castle, and he pretty much openly said that he’d much prefer me grovelling on my knees, thanking him for sparing me the burden of magical education. He’s also bummed out that I’m not actively panting after him and begging him to let me share his bed.” Harry all but snarls. 

“He puts a hand on you, I’ll kill him.”

“You know, technically he’s already put hands on me.” His face darkens, and I regret my attempt at humour. He stands up, takes a deep breath and leaves the room. I hurry after him, cursing everything within me for reminding him about Salazar slamming me against the wall. He’s moving quickly, and I lose sight of him. I seize on a couple of freaked looking first years. “Have you seen Harry Potter?” I demand, and the smallest one nods.

“He looked pretty cross.” Cross doesn’t even start covering it. “He asked us if we’d seen Salazar Slytherin.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“We told him Salazar was in the dungeons with Professor Snape.” I set off at a run, and as I approach the marble staircase to run down to the entrance hall, I hear raised voices, and know I’m already too late. 

“How dare you, how dare you touch her?”

“What?”

“Hermione Granger, you fucking piece of shit! I know what you did to her!”

“Did to her?”

“Don’t you look into my eyes and lie to me, Slytherin.”

“You mean the Mudblood?” I skid into the Hall in time to see Harry’s fist connect with Salazar’s nose. 

“Harry!” I shout. “Harry, stop!” Salazar’s nose is bleeding, but incredibly, he’s laughing. 

“Another one of her conquests? Awful touchy about her.”

“That woman saved my life, you scum. And I will love her forever for saving the life of the woman I treasure.” 

“She’s a Mudblood. If you truly owe her your life, then you are a pitiful excuse for a wizard and a man.” Before Harry can respond, a voice breaks in.

“Salazar Slytherin, you are speaking to Harry James Potter, the man who defeated Voldemort and saved your castle from complete ruin,” it booms. The crowd of fascinated students parts, and the Bloody Baron glides forward. “You will show this man and the woman he owes his own life to some respect.”

“Harry, enough,” I say, putting my hand on his arm. I turn to Salazar. “Stop this. Just stop it. You insult me all you want, but you do it to my face and let me have the chance to defend myself. You have some nerve to say that Harry is a pitiful excuse for a man when you have not the courage to challenge me to my face.”

“You want a challenge, girl? Fine. Then I challenge you to a duel.” Dead silence fills the hall. 

“Hermione, don’t,” Harry snaps.

“Shut up, Harry.”

“You’re not seriously considering it.”

“No, I’m not considering it.” I turn back to Salazar, and hold out my hand. “I accept your challenge, Slytherin. I will duel you.” He stares at me. “Shake my hand, Slytherin, unless you are afraid and wish to withdraw your challenge?”

“Afraid?” He seizes my hand and we shake. There’s a flash of white light, and I know it means the challenge is final. Just as it’s over and we’ve unclasped hands, a hand comes down on my shoulder and I’m swung round to face the fury of Severus Snape.

“Come with me, right now. Baron, kindly remove Mr Slytherin to his own quarters.” We’re dragged in opposite directions, and Harry follows us, mumbling about how stupid I am all the way. 

Snape marches me to the stone eagle outside the Head’s study, marshals me onto the moving staircase and then grimly marches me to the door.

“Come in,” McGonagall calls out. Ginny and Joe are still with her. “Ah, Professor. You’ve brought quite the entourage. Mr Potter, it’s good to see you, but right now I am in a meeting.”

“Salazar Slytherin has challenged Miss Granger to a Wizard’s Duel, and the silly little chit has accepted,” Snape grinds out, and Professor McGonagall turns a horrified face to me. 

“You’ve what?”

“I will face that man on equal terms. If it takes a Duel to make him bloody well respect me, then so be it.” I’m ignored.

“Is it final, can we get her out of it?”

“It’s final. They shook on it and it was Confirmed.”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“How hard can it be. He’s not the ultimate Duel master. I’ve fought a freaking war. I can beat him.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Thanks, Snape, thanks for the vote of confidence. I really appreciate it.”

“He’s right, Hermione. Nobody is disputing how clever you are and how powerful you are, but take your power and multiply it by ten and add ninety years of experience and you have Salazar. He was undefeated and you cannot beat him. This is a fact.”

“Then I will damn well go down trying. I will lose less face if I go in there and I fight him than if I back out. I am fighting him. And if you don’t think I’m ready, then I guess I need to practise some.”

“As challenger, he has the right to choose the time for this. We can hope the Baron talks him into delaying for a few days, but he’ll make it soon. You won’t have long.” 

“I don’t need long. I’m going to go practise, seeing as you all think I need it so much.” I leave the office, followed by Harry, Ginny and Joe, who were either dismissed or simply ran out after me. However, the three of them do manage to hold it in until we make the privacy of the room, when they let fly at me.

“He will kill you, do you understand that?” Harry shouts.

“Hermione, why would you do this?”

“I think she can do it.” 

“Thank you, Joe.” He nods, as Ginny rolls her eyes at him.

“What do you think my mother is going to say when she finds out about this?”

“If we don’t tell her, nothing.”

“Of course we’re going to tell her. It’s not like she’ll be able to get you out of it, but she can at least support you.”

“I can’t believe you’d do this. Is there absolutely no way to get her out of it?” Harry growls, pacing.

“Wizard Duels are made final when the combatants shake hands and the Spell of Confirmation is automatically passed,” Joe explains, making himself comfortable in the pile of cushions. I collapse beside him, snuggling into the cushions. It’d be peaceful if we weren’t watching Harry’s blood pressure rising.

“That must have been the flash of light,” Harry says.

“Yeah, that’ll be it. They can’t be cancelled unless one of the participants dies. There’s only one way a Wizard Duel can be cancelled, and the challenger has to do that.”

“Well, we all know Salazar is backing out,” I snap. “Now, instead of lecturing me about something that cannot be undone, either offer to help or get out and leave me alone.”

“I’m helping you,” Joe says, calmly. “I’m pretty sure you can beat him regardless. He might have nearly eighty years on you, but you’ve fought. You have practical knowledge that he can only dream of. And there are more spells around now.”

“No. I will use nothing that he will not also know. I will fight him, and I will do it on equal terms.”

“You think he’d afford you the same courtesy?” Harry demands. “If the positions were reversed, and he was in your place, do you think he’d consider that? Do you think there’s anything to stop him using curses that were perfectly acceptable to him that you won’t know? Of course not. Take whatever advantages you have.”

“It will be no victory if I beat him by foul play. I will do it fairly. If I lose, then I lost in a fair, matched duel, and I will deal with whatever consequences that results in, but I will not fight dirty.”

“You’re too nice.”

“Maybe, but that’s the way I’m doing this. That means Sectumsempra, Levicorpus, everything like that, is off the table.”

“So what shall we practise first?” Ginny asks. “Like you say – this cannot be undone. So we might as well get going.”

After hours of practising basic Duelling spells, and a lot of the very advanced ones, the four of us emerge for dinner. We eat together, massing at the end of the Gryffindor table, eating in silence, avoiding the whispers. Word is out apparently, although considering the fact that I was challenged in a crowded entrance hall, that isn’t all that surprising. Professor Snape comes down when dinner is almost over.

“Miss Granger. You are to come to the Headmistress’s office immediately after your dinner. You are to come alone. Mr Potter, the Headmistress wishes to remind you about the Quidditch session tomorrow. Several have signed up. She also wishes to remind you that while you are here visiting Miss Weasley, there are times and seasons in which the two of you may be – affectionate, and after curfew is not one of them, hence you having your own rooms.” He departs like a black bat, and Harry gapes after him.

“Did Snape just allude to us having sex?” Ginny whispers, her face crimson.

“I think he did,” Joe whispers back. “Embarrassing.”

“Well. I’ve done with dinner, so I’d better get to the study. I’ll let you know when they tell me the date Salazar chose.”

I go up to the Headmistress’s study somewhat apprehensively. I know she’s angry. I can’t blame her for being angry. I’ve never done anything so reckless, and I know it was stupid. But I’ve never had the chance to be reckless before – before now, my mistakes meant people were at risk. For the first time, my mistakes are exclusively my mistakes. But when I gain the office, I’m greeted by the sight of McGonagall and Snape, but Molly and Bill Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt. I submit to Molly’s embraces and kisses before embracing Bill and shaking Kingsley’s hand. 

“What’s this, Professor? Calling in the troops isn’t going to make me back out.”

“You couldn’t back out anyway.”

“Hermione, Minerva brought us here because she’s worried about you,” Molly says severely. “And rightly so. What were you thinking accepting a challenge from Salazar?”

“Look, I’ve had all this and more from Harry and Ginny. I already know that you all think I was reckless and stupid and hasty, and maybe I was. But if this is how he respects me, then this is how we do it. My mistakes are my own. I don’t need the lecture about irresponsibility.”

“You cannot win –“

“For God’s sake, Severus!” I shout, losing my temper. “Who says I cannot win? I have proven to him, I think, that I can beat him, that I have ability. If we are to go toe to toe, I believe I can at the very least put up a hard fight. Perhaps I can’t win, but perhaps I can! Have you entertained the idea that perhaps I could beat him?”

“He has eighty years more experience than you –“

“And I have fought a war, Severus. He has not. Eighty years is nothing compared to the experience I have because I have killed people.”

“You think he hasn’t?”

“I know he has! I know he has, I’m not the idiot you’ve spent my school life supposing me to be! But my point is that he has killed people who have been disarmed and not fighting back. This time he faces me, and believe me I will be fighting back.”

“Both of you, stop this,” McGonagall breaks in quietly. “Enough. This is the situation we are in and now we need to deal with it. Salazar has approached me and informed me that the chosen day of challenge is Tuesday morning, at ten am. We have two days. Have you decided on any strategy?”

“I’m not using any spells he wouldn’t know. But other than that, I will fight him with everything I have at my disposal.”

“He won’t hand you the same courtesy. He knows spells that you don’t, that have gone out of use.”

“I don’t care, I’m still not doing it.”

“Your sense of honour is going to be to your disadvantage.”

“Then tell me what spells he might use. Then there isn’t one. Then we’re on an even footing.”

“Hermione, there’s something more you should know.”

“He’s not discounting the Unforgiveables, is he?”

“Only the Killing Curse.”

“But – doesn’t he have to?” 

“No. In a Wizard Duel, none of the Unforgivables are actually forbidden. It’s up to the challenger to decide if they’re off the table. In this case, Salazar has made the choice that the Killing Curse is not permitted, but Imperius and Cruciatus are going to be allowed.”

“He can’t do that,” Molly insists. “He could hurt her.”

“Molly, he’s going to hurt me anyway.” Bill makes a convulsive movement.

“Why would you put us through this?”

“Because no matter what, no matter if I win or lose, I met him in fair combat and that means he will have to respect me. And as soon as he respects me, I can start thinking about possibly saving his life.” There’s a dead silence in the office.

“That’s what this is about? The prophecy?”

“I have too many lives on my conscience already. They were people I had no chance to save. But I have the chance to save him. And right now the thought repulses me, because he does not respect me. But if he can respect me, if he can shake my hand as an equal and acknowledge that I have a right to be in this castle, then I can think about the fact that a man’s life is at stake here, because right now I don’t care and that really scares me.”

“For Merlin’s sake. This shouldn’t be your burden to bear.” Bill shoves his chair back and leaves. I make my decision in a split second, and run after him, leaving the adults to discuss whatever they’re going to discuss. 

I have to run to catch him up.

“Bill!” I don’t expect him to snatch me into his arms and pull me close to him, but I wrap my arms around his waist and hold him back. 

“Come for a walk in the grounds with me, Mione. There’s a lot I want to say.” I put my arm through his, and we walk outside together and wander down to the lake, finding a bench hidden among the willow trees and sitting down together.

“What was all that about in the office?” I ask, quietly, watching the Giant Squid propel himself around. 

“You’ve had so much suffering in your life. No eighteen year old should have to do what you’ve done. And now you have this nonsense too. He should be at your feet thanking you for saving his castle from ruin, and instead he acts the way he does.”

“I can handle it, Bill. I’ve been handling it since I was eleven.”

“Well you bloody well shouldn’t have to. If I could take this from you, I would.”

“Bill, why aren’t you wearing your wedding ring?”

“You’re the first person to notice. Fleur left. “

“Why?”

“Because she can do better than a man who’s half a werewolf.”

“Oh, Bill. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says, shortly. “Better this happens now than after we’ve had kids.”

“How’s Molly going to take it?”

“I’m still gearing up for it.”

“Here’s a deal for you – if I win on Tuesday, I’ll tell her for you.”

“Deal.” His face darkens and he pulls me closer, I snuggle into him, grateful for the contact and the warmth. “If I could fight him for you, I’d do it.” 

“I wouldn’t let you.”

“I know. You’re unbelievably stubborn when you want to be.”

“Thank you. I don’t need my battles fought, Bill, but thank you for offering.” I rest my head on his shoulder. “I’m grateful you’re here Bill – but just out of interest, why are you?”

“Mum needed moral support. She’s going crazy about you, and with Dad tied up at work, Charlie doing his best to stop Ron being a tactless arse, and George dealing with – everything, and Ginny here, I was the one who could drop everything and come to help.” I fiddle with the clasp on his cloak. 

“I never meant to upset anyone. I never meant to make anyone worry. He got me so angry and so enraged and all I could see was the red mists and I just accepted the challenge.”

“I didn’t mean to blame you. I understand why you did it.” For the first time, I realise what position we’re in. I’m tucked into his arms, my head on his chest. He’s holding me closer than anyone’s ever held me before. I could move, I reflect, re-establish the distance – but the fact remains I’m comfortable, warm and cosy. 

“Do you think I can win?” I ask him, staring over the lake.

“I think you have a shot. Why shouldn’t you? You’re strong and powerful.”

“But he’s stronger,” I say, quietly. His silence confirms it. I might be strong, powerful, I might have fought a war and have invaluable combat experience, but he is ninety. He has a lifetime and he was the most powerful wizard who ever lived – the only two exceptions being Gryffindor and Merlin himself. We both know it – I’m good, but I’m not good enough to beat him. “I won’t betray my honour. I will not use something he wouldn’t know about defending against. No matter what advantages that might afford me. I will meet him on equal terms, or as equal as it gets.” He stares down at me. Suddenly, he stands up, pulling me up beside him and I stumble against his chest with the suddenness of the movement. “I was comfortable,” I grumble, poking him in the ribs. 

“Sorry. I’m just going to take you back to the castle.”

“But – we were having a nice conversation. Did I say something?”

“No,” he says, framing my face with his hands. “I just – I can’t deal with hearing about this. Not from you. Just make me a promise, OK?”

“Depends on the promise,” I say, staring into his eyes, intent on my face. I feel like he can see right through me.

“Promise me you’ll do everything you can to win. Even use what he wouldn’t know. Just try to win.”

“I can promise you that I’ll really try to win. But I cannot promise you that I’ll use anything he wouldn’t know.” He groans. Then his lips come down on mine, and I stand motionless as he kisses me with what I can only describe as frustration.


	10. Chapter 10

Salazar

“Your conduct is unacceptable. The girl is better than you treat her,” the Baron says, floating above a desk while I pace restlessly in front of him.

“Who are you to lecture me?” I demand.

“I was your friend, confidant. This is not the Salazar I knew then. Certainly you were principled and you were passionate about what you believed. But you were never stupid. While I’ll admit that there was never a woman like her when you were alive the first time, if there had been, regardless, I believe you would have respected her and acknowledged her power. You accepted Rowena and Helga, and therefore you should be able to accept her. Why do you push her away, why do you antagonise her like this? You have so much dependent on her choice. I know if I were in your shoes, I would be fighting to stay alive. You seem utterly determined to make sure she will never even consider it.”

“I – I just don’t think she –“

“Bullshit. What is your problem with her? It’s not just that she’s Muggleborn – I’ve never seen you like this with anyone, ever. There’s something about her.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Really, I’m being ridiculous? No, Salazar, I know you. And I can tell you that you have about three weeks left until you die, because at the rate you’re going you are going to die, Salazar. She is not going to save you.” Before I can respond to him, there’s a knock at the door, and Severus Snape glides in.

“Miss Granger has requested that I inform you she has accepted the time and the terms of the challenge. She has selected William Weasley as her second for the Duel.”

“Who the hell is William Weasley?”

“A brother of a friend. He breaks curses in Egyptian tombs for Gringotts.” I’m silent for a little while. Duel Seconds are there to knock out the opponent should their First be knocked out and the opponent refuses to give quarter. A Curse-Breaker for Gringotts must be powerful, so she has some idea of strategy at the very least.

“So she has some sense.”

“She had more than sense, Salazar. She has honour. She has decided not to use spells or curses you wouldn’t know. You might want to consider that, when you’re staring down her wand and realising that she has just discounted twenty creative ways to permanently maim you.”

When he’s gone, I sit in a chair and watch the Baron float towards me.

“You once told me that you considered honour to be the greatest virtue, which in your opinion honour was enough to forgive a man many things. Consider now that Miss Granger may be one of the most honourable people ever to have lived, and consider then how you can possibly continue to consider her beneath you.” He floats out through the wall, and I move over to the window. She’s outside, by the lake. There’s a group of them – the redhead girl, another redhead – this one male - who is unfamiliar to me, and the Potter boy. They seem to be having some kind of picnic, making the most of the last few days of warmth, and they seem fairly carefree as best as I can judge from this distance. As I watch, the man with the red hair reaches over to Hermione, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The redhead girl looks towards the Potter boy and I don’t need to see the knowing smiles to understand.

I have a rival, it would seem.

Over the next few days, the whispers that Hermione has been practicing Duelling reach me. Whispers about a possible lover are also rife. One of her dormitory friends has apparently seen her sneaking out, but nobody seems very sure who she’s meeting. Perhaps it’s the redheaded man – her second, Somebody Weasley? - or possibly the current Head Boy. He’s spending a lot of time with her, practising, and that’s well known. Perhaps they haven’t just been duelling. It takes me a few days to realise I care about what they may or may not have been doing.

On Tuesday morning, she is at breakfast, pale, determined, and out of uniform. She’s wearing Muggle clothes, a tight-fitting, long sleeved white shirt without any buttons or means of fastening that I can see, and what I’ve been told are jeans – something everyone around here apparently wears the second they get to take their uniforms off. When did Muggle culture get so insidious? She’s sitting with her friends, and the redhead has an arm around her shoulders, murmuring something in her ear. She’s either nodding or shaking her head, but she doesn’t seem to be saying anything in response. Perhaps she’s nervous. That pleases me a little – at least she has some sense, sense enough to know not to underestimate the challenge. As she stands up, a small ripple of power shatters a window over her head. Every head starts looking around for the source, and Professor McGonagall turns a beady stare onto her.

“Sorry,” Hermione says, blushing under the attention. “I – I’m not sure what happened. I’ll just fix that.” She fixes the damage, and approaches the High Table. “Sorry, Professor,” she says, speaking quietly now. “I lost control for a second.”  
“That’s fine, Hermione. Could you work on that?”

“Working on it. Where shall I wait?”

“The chamber to the left. I’ll come and get you when it’s time.” Hermione nods, once, and turns away. Her second joins her, but when the redhead tries, Professor McGonagall shakes her head and summons her over. “I’m sorry, Miss Weasley. I need you to help clear this Hall. The bell will go in a moment, and they’ll want to lag behind and stare. I need to get set up in peace.”

“May I ask how public this will be?”

“The Duel will be open to only the sixth and seventh years. However, they too must leave the Hall. Take them through to the Assembly Chamber opposite while we adapt the Hall into a fitting arena.”

“Can I see Hermione before it starts?”

“Yes, but not just now. Get the Hall cleared first.” The redhead nods, and swings about. She makes her way down the hall and taps the Head Boy on the shoulder. When the bell rings, they’re ready to start shepherding students out – and it’s obviously necessary. There are a lot of attempts to loiter, and a lot of whispering and pointing at both me, and the door Hermione vanished through. Professor Snape puts a hand on my shoulder, and leads me to a chamber opposite the one Hermione went in to.

“You have not yet chosen a second.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Why?”

“I’m not anticipating the need for one.” He raises an eyebrow.

“You’re underestimating her, Salazar. She might be young, but she has a chance. Take my advice, and choose a second. There is a chance you may need one, even if it’s just temporary.”

“Fine. Will you do it?” He nods.

“Yes, I will.” He consults a fob watch. “We have five minutes. Are you nearly ready?”

“She’s a school girl. Why wouldn’t I be ready?”

“Because earlier she threw out enough power to break a window and she did it unconsciously.” He turns to the door. “I’m going to make sure they’re ready.” While I’m waiting for him, I reflect. She did have that moment in the Great Hall – but that’s just a sign of her being uncontrolled. She might be powerful – but being Muggleborn must mean that she’s unable to fully control her power, and therefore when it comes to a crisis, she’ll be erratic and unpredictable. I can play that to my advantage, and get her guard down. She has no idea what it means to Duel. Duels are not battles, they are displays of skill. If she thinks that the fighting she’s done will prepare her for the grace and set of a Duel, she’s got another thing coming.

The magically magnified voice of the Headmistress breaks my thoughts.

“Today, we are gathered here to witness a Duel between Salazar Slytherin, resurrected founder of this Castle, and Hermione Granger, a current student here. I will tell you only once that anything you see here is not to be repeated outside of this Hall, or outside of your classes. Some of the spells and curses used will be very dangerous. This is not a class. This is the real thing. There will be injuries, and perhaps – perhaps there may be fatality. If you feel that you do not wish to watch, you must decide now. Leaving in the middle will not be possible.” She pauses, and I briefly wonder if anyone left. “The challenger, Salazar Slytherin.” The door to the Hall opens, and I step through it, stepping into silence.


	11. Chapter 11

Ginny

To the everlasting credit of the students, not a single person claps when McGonagall calls Salazar’s name and he steps out. The tension in the room is thick, and McGonagall’s warning that this could be fatal has obviously taken effect. While nobody got up to leave, I can sense that two or three might like to. Joe is sitting next to me, his fists clenched. My mother is sitting over with the staff, pale and frowning. Harry is sitting beside her, and I catch his eye. He nods to me, and I acknowledge him with a slight shake of my own head. Bill will come in with Hermione. Salazar takes his place with arrogance in every line of his posture, and McGonagall turns back to us. 

“The Challenged: Miss Hermione Granger, and her second, Mr William Weasley.” Hermione’s door opens, and she walks forward calmly, confidence in the tilt of her chin and her shoulders, but a certain vulnerability about her too. Bill is a step behind her, and he is radiating anger. I know my brother well enough to know that he wants to hex Salazar here and now, and take Hermione out of here. I don’t know exactly what’s happening there, but something has altered almost imperceptibly. For the first time since he arrived, I realise that despite us having had multiple conversations, Fleur has not been mentioned. I try and avoid bringing her up, but that doesn’t stop him. I’d have wondered about it sooner - but Hermione. She’s taking her place opposite Salazar, who appears to be devoid of a second. Professor McGonagall turns to him, asks if he’s going to nominate one.

“I nominate Severus Snape as second,” he announces. Snape stands up and walks over. Obviously that was prearranged. He and Bill shake hands, and then McGonagall resumes.

“Challenger sets terms.”

“The Duel ends when the cry for quarter is given. No breaks. The first to step down loses. The only dishonourable move would be the Killing Curse. Do you accept?”

“I accept, Salazar,” Hermione responds.

“Participants, shake hands.” Hermione puts out her hand, and waits patiently. Salazar hesitates, but eventually he reaches out and shakes, tersely. “Participants, bow.” This time they both hesitate, but eventually manage to bob something that could just about pass for a bow, without ever taking their eyes off each other. The five paces away are completely out of tradition. They don’t turn their backs on each other, not even once. I understand that she wouldn’t trust him - but not turning his back doesn’t fit with Salazar’s arrogance. Is it possible - is he afraid of her? Professor McGonagall steps down from the platform, and Bill and Snape remove themselves from the line of fire, but not too far away that they can’t immediately step in if it goes too far. “In your own time.”

For exactly a minute, neither moves. They simply stare each other down and wait. Hermione looks almost relaxed, and a moment later, I see why. Salazar’s spell is almost invisible, but it comes with some serious power behind it. Hermione doesn’t even flinch. The spell creates a ripple in the air, and for the first time since I met him, a flicker of something that isn’t pure arrogance crosses Salazar’s face. It’s almost surprise, but there’s something else - not fear, but shock, almost. Shock. He throws five quick spells at her, these visible and bright, and still she does not move. Still her shield doesn’t waver. It’s impressive, phenomenal power is needed to maintain a shield like that. I also know that she can’t keep it up once she starts responding, and she can’t just shield forever. His face is pure shock now which changes pretty quickly back to anger when she takes advantage of that to hit a spell of her own back. She catches him, but it can only have been fleeting. It knocks him aside, but doesn’t appear to hurt him. It’s left to Salazar to cast the first verbal spell of the Duel, and that has to mean the strain is showing. Hermione seems fine, but if it’s telling on him, it must be telling on her. So far, both of them are being fairly harmless, jinxes rather than curses. He hits her full force with what looks like a more harmful version of the Tickling Jinx, as she doesn’t laugh but rather seems to have a seizure of some sort. She keeps a shield up the entire time, and despite himself, Salazar appears reluctantly impressed. Her face contorts, and a blast of magic is forced from her, seeming to come from her very skin, and it knocks him off his feet, breaking the Jinx and enabling her to stand up. She gives him a second to gain his feet again, casting a minor Burn Jinx, which catches him on the wand arm. He gasps, staggers back, beats out the charring of his sleeve. The exposed skin is red raw, painful but superficial. His response is the same Jinx, but it catches her side, exactly where Dolohov’s curse hit her in the Department of Mysteries three years ago. She cries out, clutches her side, throws a serious Impedimenta Jinx at him. He collapses at once, and she manages to get control of herself. A quick glance at my mother reveals that she’s stark white, clinging to Harry’s hand and almost in tears. Hermione throws a Tickling Jink, the Jelly Legs Jinx and blasts him back with Reducto in the space of about five seconds. When he eventually regains his feet, he looks significantly shaken and absolutely furious. Not only has she managed to knock him off his feet twice now, she’s managed to make him look stupid in front of everyone. I know what he does next will be bad, but I never really expected him to Crucio her.

She goes to her knees, but she endures it in absolute silence. She stares at him through it. He doesn’t lift it, dragging it out for an ungodly length of time. Joe reaches for my hand, and I cling to him in silence, unable to take my eyes off Hermione on her knees. I look over at Harry, tears pouring unchecked down his cheeks, and my mother is holding him firmly. I know what he sees - he sees that night at the Malfoy Manor, when Bellatrix Lestrange tortured Hermione for exactly the reason that Salazar does now - because she is Muggleborn. But what she does next astounds me. Still under his wand, still under his curse, she gets to her feet. 

“By greater men than you, Slytherin,” she snarls, through gritted teeth. She slashes her wand across her chest and whatever she does breaks his spell. I have seen this look in her eyes only once before, only once. Its result was death. “Crucio.” From the instantaneous look on his face, it’s immediately clear that Salazar has never endured the agony of it before. He does not endure it in her silence, he drops to her feet and he screams. She does not keep it on him, she releases him from it after only seconds. She substitutes it instead for an Itching Curse, and he seems to be trying to claw off his own flesh. That she leaves until he’s leaving bloody scratch marks on his face and arms. Only then does she lift it. The curse he sends is feeble in the extreme, and she brushes it off almost contemptuously. She has to be exhausted, but she isn’t letting it show. When Salazar manages to regain his feet, he’s in far worse shape than she. He attacks with a curse similar to Sectumsempra, insofar that it opens bloody wounds on her chest and arms. But these wounds close at once, and the Curse seems to be designed to cause maximum pain and discomfort. She staggers, almost as if she’d fall, but he gives her no chance to recover. 

“Legilimens!” he shouts, carrying the war into an arena she cannot fight. She drops like a stone, and I wonder what he finds in her mind. 

“God, no!” she cries. “Harry! Harry!” Harry jolts to his feet, and I know he’d have run to her in a second, but my mother wraps her arms around him and restrains him. “God, Harry, no!” None of us need telling. He’s found the moment Voldemort showed us Harry, to all appearances dead. He doesn’t lift the spell, and what comes from her next is heartbreaking. “Daddy. Daddy, I’m sorry. Daddy.” I get to my own feet then, and the words are out before I can stop them.

“Stop it, you bastard, stop it!” Joe pulls me back, and it’s done nothing. Salazar doesn’t even blink. But something is happening to Hermione. For a fleeting second, she fights it, looks up and meets Salazar’s eyes. 

“You want my memories, Slytherin? Have them. Look at who I am.” I don’t know how she’s doing it, but suddenly we can all see it. She’s inside the minds of us all, and she’s screaming. The backing track to these memories are screams. The War, Bellatrix, Dolohov dying at her feet, Lestrange dead at her feet, the men she killed in the War, the darkness she’s shoring up in her mind. “This is who I am, Slytherin, and the woman I could become if I gave into the evil inside me. Now, Slytherin, now it’s your turn.” 

She inflicts a curse upon him that makes him fall to his knees. The pain on his face is horrendous, and I can barely watch her do it to him. This is not my Hermione. This is not the woman I know. 

“This is what it feels like to lose the people you love, Slytherin. And I lost them fighting so the people like me could have the right not to be discriminated against. This is what it feels like every second of every day. And you presume to think that you can torture me?” When she withdraws her curse, she steps away. She does nothing. Salazar drags himself to his feet and stares at her. He doesn’t make an effort to raise his wand. 

“I cede,” he says, quietly. “The Duel is yours.” Hermione looks shocked. He steps down form the platform, and bows to her. She bows back, deep and respectful, and turns to Bill. He walks towards her, and reaches her just in time to catch her as she collapses.


	12. Chapter 12

Hermione

When the blackness clears out of my mind, and the world around it seeps back in, I start to become aware of sounds, voices. I can’t move. It feels like there’s something covering every inch of my body, pressing me against a soft surface, totally paralysing me. I can hear voices.

“Tell him to go fuck himself.”

“Ginevra!”

“I’m sorry, Mother, but as far as I’m concerned, he has no right to be in here. He’s the one who put her in this bed.”

“Hermione’s a grown woman, she accepted the challenge. She has at least partial responsibility.”

“Shut up, Bill.”

“Ronald, don’t tell your brother to shut up.”

“Ron, Bill has a point.”

“This is a hospital. My patient is trying to recover. Either you all keep your voices down, or you leave.”

“Sorry Madame Pomfrey.” 

“And I’m afraid he cannot come in. Six visitors at a time, and no more.” Six? Who is here? Bill, Ron, Ginny, Molly and Harry. Who else? I start trying to disturb the weight on my body, and try and wake up, let them know I can hear them now.

“When will she wake up?” Harry asks, exhaustion in his tones. I wonder how long I’ve been out.

“This is magical exhaustion, Mr Potter. There’s no time frame on this. It can be anything up to two weeks. It’s only been three days.”

“But she doesn’t look better. She looks just the same.”

“She’s very ill, Mr Potter. I have told you several times that it will take her some time to recover. Even once she regains consciousness, it will take her some time to recover. All unnecessary magic - Apparation, Duelling, Summoning, everything that takes place outside the classroom - will have to be avoided. She will have to stay here for a while after she wakes up.” I hear her rustle off. 

“Question - and this is just for the sake of argument, Ginny - how is she supposed to get to know Salazar if you’re going to keep her penned up here? There’s very little time left. He’s been awake almost two weeks. That gives them two more weeks.”

“You’re thinking about that now?” Ginny demands.

“She would,” Bill says, quietly. I wonder if he’s told them about Fleur yet. A warm hand is placed in mine, but it’s unfamiliar. I contract my fingers, squeezing gently.

“She squeezed my hand!” Who is that? I know the voice. Who is it? 

“She what?”

“I put my hand in hers, and she squeezed it.” Feet leave the bedside, and swift footsteps return. I smell starch and somebody bends over me.

“Miss Granger?” Madam Pomfrey puts her hand in mine. “Can you hear us?” I squeeze. “Can you open your eyes?” I can’t, no matter how hard I try. I can’t move anything except that hand. “Alright dear. Relax. Now, we’ve established that she can hear us. Bear that in mind when you talk, and try speaking to her. She might like to be updated. Hermione, dear, I’ll be back to check on you soon.” as her shoes clack away, I focus back on the people around me. Who is the sixth person? The voice is so familiar. It’s none of the Weasleys, I’m certain of that. It isn’t Joe. Who else would be here? Who else would be at my bedside, holding my hand? I know I know that voice. And of course, none of them are willing to say his name. That’d be too easy.

They talk to me about the castle, about the reaction to my victory. How Salazar is sitting outside the Hospital Wing, waiting to be allowed to see me. After some time, Madame Pomfrey comes and kicks them all out for end of visiting. She fusses around me, and I feel the gentle whoosh of some of her checks go over me. Before she leaves, I feel her bend over me, stroke my hair back from my face surprisingly gently. 

“Fight it, Hermione,” she whispers. “Fight.”

I lie in my paralysed state for a long time. I can hear my own breathing and after a long while, I can eventually hear my heartbeat. It sounds strong. I do a little mental checklist. I’m not in any pain - I just can’t move. I can feel everything. I am aware of my body, and there’s no pain. I don’t feel particularly tired. I can identify that my body, and the parts of my brain that deal with it have simply switched off, probably to recover. It’s been through the unconscious healing stage, so apparently I’m permitted to think now. Does this count as sleep? Do I need to, as my body is already resting? I don’t appear to need any sleep. After a long, long time, I hear the birds start to sing outside. A while later, I hear noises that tell me the castle is waking up. Footsteps go past the door, and I can hear noises coming from the office. I try to move again, and this time there’s a response. I’m free of the weight, I can move and shift and stir. Finally, I feel my eyes open. 

The light floods in, and I immediately close them again, protesting against the bright sunlight. It looks like a beautiful day. I wonder what to do, edging my eyes open cautiously. This time, I manage a little better, reducing the blinding this time. When I’ve got my bearings, I look around. I can see the office - there are no screens around me. I’m roughly halfway down the ward. Should I call out? I feel a little foolish, imagining calling out. What am I supposed to say? Can I even speak? My mouth is very dry. A drink. I must have water. I shift more, trying to drag myself into a sitting position. The movement is obviously noticed, because Madame Pomfrey hurries out and bustles towards me. 

“Good morning, Miss Granger. How are you feeling?”

“Water.” I croak. “Water.” She picks up a jug and tumbler, pouring a blissful stream of water. 

“Sip it slowly, Miss Granger.” I force myself to follow her instructions, and take a few small sips, moistening mouth and throat enough to speak. “Better?”

“Thank you,” I say, still sipping.

“How do you feel?” she asks, looking at me.

“I - I’m not so sure. Kind of tired, but not tired like I haven’t slept. Tired like I’ve just worked out, like I’ve run a marathon.” She nods.

“That’s normal. You were almost completely magically exhausted. I wasn’t expecting you to come round just yet.”

“Four days isn’t normal?”

“You heard them. Then you also heard me say that it isn’t a science. There’s no normal, but I’ve never seen anyone as bad as you. Do you feel sick, headachy?”

“Bit of a headache.” She Summons a Potion, opens it and hands it to me. 

“Drink that.” I swallow obediently, and almost at once, the dull headache vanishes. “Do you want breakfast?”

“Yes please.”

“I’ll bring you something. Finish your water.”

“Who was here, yesterday? I got five of them - but who was the man who took my hand?”

“You didn’t recognise the voice?”

“No, I did - I just couldn’t place it.”

“A classmate from last year, Miss Granger. Mr Longbottom came to see you. He was the sixth visitor.”

“Of course!” She smiles at me, and goes away to return with a tray of food. It’s nothing fancy, just scrambled eggs and toast, but I enjoy it. When she comes to take the tray, I put out my hand.

“Could I see Salazar?” I ask. She arranges me against a mountain of pillows so I can lean back comfortably. 

“It isn’t visiting hours, Miss Granger.”

“Please. You know that the others won’t like it. I don’t want a fuss - I just want to see him.”

“You can have ten minutes. I’ll send for him, and you can have ten minutes.”

“Thank you.” She sets up some screens, and departs.

She sends a house elf, and a few minutes later, he opens the door and slips round it. Madame Pomfrey waylays him.

“You may have ten minutes with her, and no more. I will be timing it. These are not official visiting hours, and it will not happen again, is that clear?”

“Yes, yes. Crystal.” I hear two sets of footsteps, one passes on and the other pauses outside the screen. I adjust the bed jacket she’s put me in, and gather my courage together.

“Don’t lurk, Salazar, come in. We have little enough time.” He comes in, and stands awkwardly. I gesture at the chair, feeling pretty awkward myself. “Sit, please.” He sits, and we stare at each other for a while. “Why did you stop?” I ask. “You would have won, Salazar. One more curse, and you would have won.”

“I stopped because - because I realised something.” He stops now too, and stares at his hands. 

“What did you realise?” I prompt.

“I realised that you were able to beat men greater than I. I realised that I could have tortured you indefinitely and it wouldn’t have changed who you are. And I - I came to respect your power, during that Duel.”

“My power,” I echo. “So you do not yet respect the wielder - you don’t respect me.”

“That isn’t what I meant. I don’t think I ever fought anyone who could come close to touching you. I respected a great deal about you. And the Baron reminded me of something, the day I challenged you. I considered, when I was alive, that a man’s honour was his greatest asset, in my eyes. He was correct. You are extremely honourable. Severus told me what you did, how you discounted curses I wouldn’t know. And what I saw in your mind - you have killed, but never out of spite or a desire for petty revenge. The men you killed had done you great personal wrong. And I respect anyone - anyone - who can fight while under the Cruciatus Curse. I came to respect you. I stood aside because you had already won.”

“But I hadn’t. You spent less time on your knees than I did.”

“You had. You’d won because you accepted my challenge as a means to gain my respect. Once you had gained it, the Duel was over.” He looks at me for the first time since he came in. “You may not think much of me, Miss Granger, but I have my own ideas about what gives a man honour, and acknowledging that someone deserves his respect is one of them.”

“I think what I think of you because I’m not entirely sure I can trust a word you say.”

“Why?”

“Because the choice I make decides whether you live or die. I’d say whatever I’d have to to get the person who had my life in their hands to save me.”

“That’s understandable. But think about the fact that about a week ago, regardless of the fact that you held my life in your hands, I had no time for you and certainly no respect.”

“I’m sorry, Salazar. It might be easy for you, but I can’t just trust people. I cannot trust you, not yet anyway.”

“Then I’ll do whatever I can to make you, especially as you’re right about one thing. I have just over two weeks left to persuade you, and I am going to try my hardest to convince you to save me.”

“I’d expect nothing less. I’m sorry it can’t be easy for me, Salazar.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” He stands, extends a hand to me. I consider, before extending my own hand, and shaking it. His hand is warm, the palm rough. 

“Salazar,” I say, just before he leaves my little cubicle. “I’ll try and persuade the others to let you come during actual visiting hours.” He offers me half a smile, and slips away. I slump back onto my pillows, and stare at the light filtering through the material of the screens.

That was odd.


	13. Chapter 13

Hermione

That afternoon, Bill comes to see me. He’s alone, and I realise that we’re going to have to discuss that kiss - the kiss that so far, we’ve both been pretending just didn’t happen. He slips around the screens. When he sees I’m awake, he rushes forward and snatches me into a hug. 

“Hermione, you’re awake!” 

“Woke up this morning,” I say, adjusting my position a little. “How are you?”

“Better now you’re awake.”

“Have you told your mother about your divorce yet?” He rolls his eyes at me. 

“No. I got the papers today though.”

“Well, I did win. Do you want me to tell your mother?”

“Yes.”

“What do you want me to tell her?”

“Tell her the truth. That my wife walked out on me because she couldn’t handle the fact that at the full moon, I go a little wild.” I reach out, take his hand.

“I’m very sorry, Bill. You deserve better that that.” He turns his hand over under mine and laces our fingers together. “Bill…” I murmur, looking at him. “We should talk about what happened.”

“I know. And we will, but right now, we don’t have the time and this isn’t the place. Especially as any minute now others will come in.” I smile.

“OK. But I have to tell you something, and I’m telling you because you’re rational.”

“Oh, I can already tell that I’m not going to like this.” I glare at him.

“I saw Salazar this morning.”

“What was he doing here?”

“I asked to see him, Bill. And we had a conversation. He told me that he came to have a new found respect for me during our Duel and that he’s going to try and persuade me to save him.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said I’d try and get past my feelings for him. I have to at least try Bill,” I say, seeing the argument starting in his face. “I can’t just let him die without making a conscious effort to stop it.”

“You are just too good.”

“I’m not Bill. I already know, deep down, that I will not save him. That I could never save him.” Before he can answer that, the door opens, and the patter of feet announce other guests. I signal that he should be quiet, so I can give the others a shock. He smiles and shakes his head, rather as someone would with a child who has a delicious secret that is making them excited. I stick my tongue out and restore myself to a straight face just as Harry slips around the screens. The seriousness on his face is replaced by an almost boyish grin as he sees me awake, and if he notices Bill dropping his hold of my hand, he says nothing, merely rushes forward to gather me into a hug and kiss my face until I protest and shove him off. Ginny is less enthusiastic and Molly almost suffocates me. By the time I’ve been released from her clutches, Bill has slipped off, and I insist that now Harry and Ginny know I’m fine, I need a couple of minutes with Molly. It takes some persuasion, but eventually they leave and Molly settles herself in Bill’s vacated chair. 

“It’s good to see you awake, dear,” she says, beaming. “Although you’re looking very peaky. As soon as you’re out of here, you must promise me you’ll take it easy and eat plenty.”

“Yes Molly, I will. But I’m afraid I have some news for you, and I have to tell you quickly.”

“Oh dear, is it bad?”

“Nobody’s physically harmed, but it’s bad in other senses. 

“Well, tell me quickly. I’m about at the end of my tether for shocks, what with everything.”

“Bill and Fleur are getting a divorce. He got the papers through this morning and she’s a bitch.” Molly blinks. “Apologies for the language.”

“They’re - getting divorced? But - but why?”

“She can’t handle who he is now. Honestly, Molly, he’s told me very little, but I get the impression they haven’t been happy for some time and that this is probably for the best.” I reach over and pat her hand awkwardly. “Are you angry?”

“No - not angry. But shocked. I don’t understand why he didn’t tell me. Why are you telling me this?”

“We made a deal that if I won the Duel, I would tell you. He was worried about how you’d take it, how it’d affect you, especially on top of everything else. So I won, and here I am telling you now.”

“Well, I suppose I’d better go and speak to him. Does everyone know?”

“No, as far as I know I am the only one who’s aware. But it’s been a while since he wore his ring, Molly. I’m surprised you didn’t notice.”

“I knew there was something different about him, but I - I couldn’t pin point it. And I was so worried about you, I suppose I didn’t notice it.”

“Well, go easy on him. He’s upset at bottom, though he isn’t saying so. After all, it is his marriage that’s failed here, and obviously at one point he must have loved her.”

“I’ll be good, Hermione. I thought she could handle it after what she said during, well after, it all happened. But apparently not. Goodness, what must he think of me, not noticing? Teach me to pay him some attention - I’ve just been so worried about George and how the family are coping.”

“How is he, Molly?” She looks at me, and her eyes are bright, sparkling with unshed tears.

“Not so good, Hermione.” She sniffs. “Some days he looks OK, does OK, even acts it. But he hasn’t smiled since it happened and most nights you hear him crying. The nights you don’t he’s put up wards because he doesn’t want to be disturbed. Some days it’s really bad and he won’t even leave his room. He hasn’t been to the shop since Fred died, he doesn’t laugh or smile or crack a joke. I’d give anything just to pick up one of his fake wands again or a find out he’d replaced my biscuits at a party with those bloody Canary Creams. I’d even let him Transfigure Ron’s things into spiders without shouting if it’d make him smile again.” She gives a watery laugh, and I join her. 

“Molly, I have a suggestion. Send him over to Grimmauld Place. Harry could use the help and maybe it’d help George a bit.”

“Busy work.”

“Maybe. But Harry’s - well, he’s Harry. None of us have lost half of ourselves, but -”

“Actually, Hermione, I wanted to ask if perhaps you’d speak to him.”

“Me?”

“Harry did lose his parents, which is terrible - but he doesn’t remember them, not really. But you made so many sacrifices to stay with Harry, to fight, to try and make it so that Fred could have lived in another time.” She gazes at me. “Hermione, I am so sorry. And you should know -”

“You’re already all but my second mother, Molly. In so many ways, you are and have been my mother. You were my guide in this world and you made me understand it when I was a Muggle girl struggling so much to comprehend this - all this. It’s mad, and I was scared, and you helped me, right from the beginning.” Some tears fall from her eyes, and I let her pull me into her arms. 

“My brave, beautiful girl. You shouldn’t have to bear this and if I could take it from you, I swear I would. I’m going to keep you safe.”

“But you can’t protect me from my own decisions. And this is a burden you cannot shoulder for me, Molly.”

“I could never shoulder any of them. But I can help you live with it, and I can pick you up if you fall and I can definitely help you when it’s over. And I will.”

“Thank you, Molly. I - I want to think that I could save him, that I could be a good person and selflessly have sex with a man in order to save his life. But I can’t even imagine it without my stomach turning and everything in my brain screaming me not to do it, that I can’t trust him. In the past, I’d say my gut was good enough to go on. I didn’t need to know the men I was - the men I was killing, because I knew that if they got the chance they’d want to kill me too and they wouldn’t think about it. But all I know about him is what I’ve heard of him. I have no idea what he would do if I saved his life now. I knew - with those men, I knew that they would try and kill me if I let them live - but if I let him live? I have no idea what he would do with a second chance of life. I have no idea if he’s changed or if he’d spend the next seventy odd years trying to be the next version of Voldemort. And until I can trust him, my answer will never be anything but no.”


	14. Chapter 14

A day later, I manage to hound Madame Pomfrey into letting me go and Bill comes to help spring me. He helps me into a jacket, as I’ve discovered I’m stiffer than a board after five days of lying down. 

“I’m going to strangle you with the sleeves and gag you with the collar of this,” he says, smiling sweetly so Pomfrey doesn’t think he’s threatening me with death.

“Why?”

“Could you really not have been more tactful than “Bill and Fleur are getting a divorce.”?”

“Well, how else was I supposed to bloody say it?”

“I don’t know. Tactfully?”

“Well, next time you get divorced you can just tell your mother yourself.”

“Shut up. Scarf nice and tight?”

“Struggling to breathe.”

“Good. Madame Pomfrey, can I take her now?”

“You can. But - Hermione, you come to me right after breakfast and right after dinner every day for a week, and I check on you. If you feel even a little bit dizzy, you come to me. If I detect even a slight temperature fluctuation, back in that bed you go and there you stay for as long as I say.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good. Take it easy. I’m trusting Molly and Mr Weasley here, along with Miss Weasley and Mr Potter to see that you do and it will be them,” she says, transferring a freezing look onto Bill, “who I shall blame if you over exert yourself in any way. Is that clear, Mr Weasley?”

“Yes ma’am,” he says, nodding. As soon as the door to the hospital wing is shut behind us, I start in.

“Is somebody a little bit scared of the matron?”

“A little bit? Hermione, she fucking terrifies me. Always did, always will. I haven’t forgotten the rollicking I got from her for eating stewed poison ivy for a bet.”

“For a bet? My God, you are an idiot.”

“Yeah, shut up.”

“No. This is just far too good.”

“I don’t care that you’re recovering from magical exhaustion, I will push you in the lake.”

“A dip might be fun.”

“You are just unbelievable.”

“Thank you.”

“Hermione?” We turn round, and Bill’s arm slips off my shoulders. Salazar is standing just behind us and there’s a slight frown on his face. I wonder what it must look like - Bill’s arm around me, mine around him, and both of us laughing, teasing. In fact, I know what it must look like - and that is that it looks like we’re a couple.

“Salazar.”

“Never mind. I’ll - um - I’ll see you later.” He walks away before either of us can say anything, and I stare after him.

“What’s with him?” Bill asks.

“He thinks my decision is already made. He thinks I’m already shagging you.”

“Ah.”

“I’ll deal with it soon. I’m just not mentally awake enough to deal with it now.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I just want to go to my room, go to my own bed, and sleep until dinner.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He walks me up to the common room, and when the portrait opens, he lifts me up to the entrance so I can crawl through. Ginny is sitting by the fire, a book open on her knees. She must be doing homework. She looks up as I come in and jumps to her feet.

“I didn’t know she was letting you out!”

“She wasn’t going to, I insisted.”

“Well, in that case, I’m going to go and tell Harry and Mum that you’re out.”

“Where are they?”

“Harry is coaching Quidditch, Mum is with Professor McGonagall. Do you want them to come up?”

“I think I just want to go to bed before dinner. Which means Molly can come up if she really must, but Harry can’t.” She grins. 

“I’ll pass that on. Are you coming, Bill?” He nods, and slips an arm around me. 

“Get some sleep, I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Thank you Bill.”

As soon as I get to bed, I fall asleep, and I'm grateful that I don't lie awake.


	15. Chapter 15

Bill

After Ginny has gone to find Harry, and Mum has gone up to Hermione, I wander outside. I go to the eaves of the forest, climb my favourite tree there and I’m not there ten minutes before my thoughts are interrupted.

“Who is she to you?” 

“My brother’s best friend.”

“No. I mean what does she mean to you.”

“What’s it to you, Salazar? Afraid I’m competition?” He walks round, and stands beneath my tree. I jump down from the branch, and he tries not to look like it startled him. I sit on the earth, he joins me.

“Something like that.”

“And you’re wondering why she’d pick me, scars and all, over you.”

“No, I know why she’d do that. She doesn’t know me, and what she does know she learnt from books - none of which show me in a very good light. And I’m not saying that that is incorrect. For once, history did not exaggerate. She has the right to hate me. She has hated me ever since she came to this school, found out I existed and what I stood for, who I was when I lived. A month is not enough time to remove seven years of hatred.”

“Hermione hated you when she met you. I don’t think she hates you now.”

“Her attitude has certainly altered.”

“She is like you, in some respects. She is so much a soldier now that her first instinct is to respect power. She even respected Bellatrix Lestrange, in terms that she was a great witch. She respects your magic. But she does not trust you.”

“I wouldn’t trust me either.”

“Her attitude has shifted. But yours has completely changed. You cannot expect me to believe that you have one duel with her and suddenly respect her completely.”

“I respect her, but this does not mean that I feel an emotional connection to her. You may consider it callous, but I am certainly attracted to her. If she would consent, it would not be difficult.”

“You don’t actually have to have a relationship. You just have to court her into your bed. Do you think it’ll be easy?” I ask him, coolly, watching his face for reactions. 

“No. Do you think it’ll be easy to court her into yours?” I look at him. 

“Who said I want Hermione in my bed?”

“The look on your face when you say her name, think about her, look at her and mention her in passing. The look on your face whenever she’s within a mile radius of being even close to your thoughts. How many times did you think about killing me up there?”

“Twenty three. And I had ten ways to do it.”

“They told me before she and I duelled that you were a curse breaker for Gringotts.”

“Hence the ten different ways to kill you. None of them were the Killing Curse, and all of them would have been very slow and very painful. Three of them wouldn’t have taken effect until after the Duel was over. Nobody would actually have ever known it came from me. It would have just looked like something very unfortunate happened to you while wandering around the castle.”

“I had no intention of killing her. One would think killing me would be a little extreme in those circumstances.”

“No, but you meant to hurt her and half of what you did was not necessary. You weren’t fighting her, you were trying to torture her. I haven’t written off killing you yet, Salazar. Believe me I have many ways of making it look like an unfortunate accident, just like you accidentally ran through something nasty around the castle. Nobody knows all of Hogwarts secrets yet.”

“I built this castle boy.”

“I’ve thought of that, Salazar. You built it, but you didn’t build the forest. Anything could be in those trees. Including the way I will kill you, if you step out of line with her. And I mean even slightly, if you do anything of any description that I deem to be inappropriate, you’ll be dead before you can hurt her.”

“You said my death lay in the forest. I’ll be sensible enough to keep any quarrel with her out of the forest.”

“You’re already in the damn forest, Salazar.” He stares at me.

“What have you done.”

“Now where’s the fun in telling you?”

“What if I tell someone?”

“Nobody will believe you, Salazar. And the goblins will foreclose on you before you can finish accusing me of anything.” I stand up, brush off my trousers and smile at him. “I’ll see you at dinner Salazar.” I turn just before I leave the trees. “And remember - all I have to do now, is activate the curse. Oh, and good luck finding the counter curse – this is three thousand years old and only two people on the planet have known it since the records started on it five hundred years back – one of them’s dead. And you could torture me until the end of your time on this earth, but I’d never give you it.”

“You are, perhaps, a little cleverer than you appear.”

“Thank you, Salazar. And with that knowledge, I wish to advise you that if you wish to have any hope of Hermione being your savior, you might want to stop threatening her at each and every turn.”

I’m almost out of earshot when he calls to me.

“All anyone tells me is what not to do. Nobody seems very willing to see me live.”

“Would you, Salazar? Would you want to see you live, if you were in her shoes?”


	16. Chapter 16

SPOV

“Would you, Salazar? Would you want to see you live, if you were in her shoes?”

I recount the words of William Weasley to Severus, who steeples his long fingers and looks at me.

“I seem to spend a great deal of time explaining the obvious to you, Salazar. I am coming to regard you as little more than an especially irritating student – you are coming to equal even the levels of Hermione Granger.”

“Well, it is not obvious to me and I would very much appreciate some clarification!” I snap. I feel like the student he calls me. 

“Stop threatening her. Be nice to her. It wouldn’t kill you. Quite the opposite, in fact. You have two weeks. Two weeks and one day. You have wasted precious time and precious energy baiting her in either some attempt to rile her up to the point where she falls into the nearest bed with you in a fit of passion or in some suicide attempt. Hermione Granger has never fallen into bed in a fit of passion unless you count her highly questionable decision to fall into bed with Ronald Weasley.” He sighs. “Hermione Granger has fought against your ideals since she set foot into this school. She has been shown over and over again that your house, your ideals and the people in your house abhor people like her. The word Mudblood has been carved into her flesh with a cursed blade. She has experienced nothing but hurt through the ideals you put down – and I regret sincerely that she has suffered through it even at my hands.”

“I put down those ideals nearly a thousand years ago. How is it my fault that you people can’t move on?”

“You put them down, Salazar. You’ll just need to live with it. Yes, perhaps we could have and should have moved on from them. Sadly we did not and that lead us into war. And now we are moving on, now she is a respected member of this community. She saved my life and I owe her everything. So, Salazar, if you had your favourite insult carved into your arm with a cursed blade so it will never fully heal, would you want to see you live?”

And of course, the answer is no. I wouldn’t want to see me live. And I don’t blame Hermione Grange for hating me; I don’t blame her for not being able to make an instant decision. When Helga made this prophecy, I thought it would be a guaranteed second chance, another go round to see how the world changed and perhaps another go at implementing my ideas. But I didn’t think a thousand years and a war would have passed, I never thought the paradox would be such a paradox. I thought that, at worst, it would be a case of needing to court the girl, buy flowers and finally get her into bed. I projected for a week at longest. I never imagined she would fight me, that she would hate me, that she would despise me and literally turn to me and say she wanted me dead. I never imagined that I would half-kill her myself, that she would be angry and bitter. That a war fought over my own ideals would have involved her so completely and so brutally. So I cannot blame her for wanting me dead. 

And I might still have a chance, but for William Weasley. He has come apparently from nowhere, newly divorced from all I hear. And Hermione seems to have some kind of draw to people who need rescuing and while he doesn’t seem the type to need her to rescue him; he isn’t exactly fending her off. She certainly isn’t wasting any of her need to save people on me. Deep down, I am starting to realize that she believes she I am not worth saving. She despises me and everything I stand for – and perhaps I deserve that.

HPOV

Bill is the one who wakes me for dinner. 

“Hermione? Hermione, wake up honey.” I crack open my eyes. He smiles down at me and strokes my face. 

“How’d you get up here?” I ask. “Those stairs are meant to be charmed.” He smirks at me, his fanged earring swinging as he shakes his head at me.

“Oh, Hermione – you don’t think I spent seven years at Hogwarts, this handsome and this generally amazing, without finding a way to get into the girl’s dormitories?” I laugh, sitting up.

“Modest too, huh?” I tease. “So how’d you do it? Seriously.”

“Well, I reckon Harry’s Cloak would work, but as I couldn’t find him to ask for it – probably used it himself to sneak into Ginny’ room or given it to Ginny so she can use it to sneak into his room although I’m really trying not to dwell on that possibility because that’s my baby sister – so I used my own old favourite.”

“Which was?” I persist. 

“Levitation Charm,” he says. I burst out laughing.

“Really, it’s that simple?”

“Yep. The stairs can only work it out if there’s actually someone on the stairs. I think kids must have been better behaved back in the founders’ days.” He grins at me. 

“Nice to know what you actually did as Head Boy, Bill.” He looks vaguely incredulous.

“Oh come on, I found that out in fourth year.”

“Fourth year?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. “Got going early.”

“Well, when did you lose yours?” I blush. “Sorry, was that too forward?” I roll out of bed and patter over to my drawers.

“If you must know, it was with Viktor.” He gasps behind me.

“Viktor? You mean Viktor Krum? Wasn’t he like 18 years old?”

“17, actually, but it wasn’t during fourth year. And yes, I mean Viktor Krum. I was 15, it was during Christmas of my fifth year.”

“Wait. I need a second to take this in. You, Hermione Granger, my brother’s best friend, have had sex with Viktor Krum, the international Quidditch superstar?” I shrug, turning back to him, holding jeans, jumper and t-shirt. 

“Yes.”

“You dark horse.”

“Says the guy who could Levitate himself into girls room’s from the age of 14.” I slap at his foot. He’s made himself comfortable, and is sprawled out on my bed. “Now out you go. I have to get myself dressed for dinner.” 

“Actually, I came up for two reasons. One to wake you.”

“You’re not watching me get dressed.”

“Well, dang.” I laugh at him. “No, McGonagall made an announcement. There’s going to be a Halloween dance on Friday. Fancy dress.”

“Oh, that might be fun.”

“Yeah, and I spoke to Madame Pomfrey, who says that as long as you’re feeling up for it, you’re clear. So, do you want to go?”

“Well, yes,” I say, puzzled by this. “Of course I do, it’ll be a good laugh – Severus in costume?”

“No, I meant – do you want to come with me?” I stare at him. 

“With you? Like – a date?” He shrugs, but his colour is rising a little. 

“Or – or just as friends.” I sigh, sit down beside him. 

“Bill – are you just asking me because you’re still getting over Fleur?”

“No. I’m asking you because I like you. You’re smart and funny and brave. And beautiful.” He pauses, looks at me. Even though I can feel my cheeks heating up, I look back at him. “I know you’re dealing with a lot right now, so if you’d rather do this as a just friend’s thing, I understand, and I’m prepared to wait.”

“Bill – look. No, wait, I’m not saying no. You’re a handsome, brave, intelligent man, and I – I must admit I always harboured a crush for you. But if we go, as a date, and I decide that I can find it within myself to save Slytherin and do what needs to be done to do that, would you honestly be OK with that? Would you honestly be able to let it go?”

“I don’t know. If you were my girl – I’d find it pretty hard to let you go off and sleep with somebody else, even if it was purely a noble gesture and I knew it wouldn’t involve any feelings.”

“Exactly, and you’ve been hurt enough.” He frames my face in his hands, strokes my cheek with one thumb. 

“And this is why I fell for you,” he says, quietly. “Because you’re so damn kind. Even now, after everything, you don’t consider your decision definite or made in any way but you’re still putting everyone else first.” 

“You really want to go with me?”

“Yes.” I smile.

“I will come then. With you. I’ll come.” And then he kisses me. And though I don’t mean to let it go on very long, and keep him at arm’s length for a while, his lips are so very soft and firm on mine, and his jumper under my fingers is soft and warm. I find my hands hooked behind his neck, letting my fingers play in his hair. His hands are stroking my arms and up to cup my cheeks and I can feel the calluses on his fingers rough against my skin. He bears me down onto my bed, holds me close, and kisses a burning path up my neck to my eager mouth. I let my hands play along his sides, finding a gap between sweater and jeans and letting the tips of my fingers press against the soft, warm skin I find there. 

This, unfortunately, is how Ginny finds the two of us – wrapped in each other’s arms, torso pressed against torso and legs entangled. 

“Hermione, Mum says if you don’t want to come down, she can – oh, Merlin!”

“Ginny!” Bill shouts, his face scarlet. “Get the hell out!”

“OK, OK!” She’s backing up rapidly, but can’t help but linger.

“Ginny, I’m coming down, I’ll be there soon!” I add hastily, as it looks like Ginny wants an actual answer to return to Molly with. She scuttles off on the word. 

“And if you tell Mum, I’ll tell her what I caught you and Potter doing in the hall cupboard on New Year’s Eve!” Bill calls after her. He doesn’t leave my arms though.

“Bill, we have to go.”

“I know. I know.” He rolls away, but we don’t get off the bed. Finally, I slide away; pick up the clothes I dropped earlier. 

“Just out of mild interest, what did you catch her and Harry doing?”

“Let’s just say she was on her knees for it and he was standing up facing her.”

“Nice.”

“Not nice.” 

“Out, I have to get dressed.”

“OK, I’m going.” He gets up himself, and turns to smile at me at the door. “Thanks for accepting to come with me.”

“No problem, but we’re not coordinating costumes. I already know what I’m going as.”

“That’s fine, because I do too – oh, fuck!” He’s set foot on the stairs, distracted by talking to me. They’ve turned into the slide, and he whizzes out of sight. I laugh and dress quickly, wrapping up warm for it as this is a draughty castle – and I won’t make a good Halloween party girl with a red nose and streaming eyes. 

The stairs are still a slide, so I sit down and push off, whizzing past the doors of other dormitories and landing neatly onto a rug between an arguing Molly and Bill. 

“What were you doing up there in the first place? You still haven’t explained!”

“I told you, Mum, I went to wake Hermione for dinner!”

“Well, I could have done that!”

“And if I went, if she wanted to stay in bed, she wouldn’t have had to worry about worrying you.” 

“Hello, Molly,” I say, scrambling up. 

“Hermione,” she says, helping me a little. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” I say. “Shall we go for dinner?”

“Yes, come on. You and Bill were up there a long time, are you sure everything’s OK?” Ginny is smirking at me from a sofa.

“It’s fine; he had some trouble waking me. I guess I didn’t know how tired I was.” Ginny’s grin widens and I try to glare at her without Molly noticing.

“Are you sure you’re OK to come down – you look a little tense? I can get Dobby to bring you something in a snap?”

“No, I’m getting cabin fever here, between the hospital wing and now my room. Perhaps after dinner, Ginny would like to come for a walk around the lake with me?”

“Yes, sure. I’ll look after her; make sure she doesn’t get too tired.”

Bill and I sit together for dinner, while Molly sits with Ginny and Harry, scrutinizing us. Whilst I’m trying to avoid making any contact with Bill, he deliberately arranges his legs so our knees brush against each other. And I can’t ignore the fact that the tiny point of contact feels like it’s on fire, tingling with electricity. As soon as Ginny and I have finished our meal, she stands.

“Shall we take that stroll, Hermione?”

“Sure.” I say, springing up. “Let’s go.” I walk her out of the Hall at top speed. “I hate you sometimes, and this is probably one of the worst moments.” She laughs, and loops her arm around my waist.

“Oh, Hermione. Let’s go for this stroll and you can explain to me why you were wrapped around my brother like he was a float in a wave pool.”


	17. Chapter 17

HPOV

“OK, Ginny, before we have this conversation you think we’re going to have, Bill told me what he caught you and Harry doing in the hall cupboard on New Year’s Eve,” I say, sternly.

“That rat bastard. He swore he’d never tell.”

“Oh come on, I’m different.”

“True. Not one of my proudest moments.”

“Giving Harry a blowjob in a cupboard isn’t one of your proudest moments?”

“OK, it might be a good moment in my life.” I laugh.

“Look, Bill and I – not even I’m sure what’s going on.”

“You seemed pretty damn sure to me,” she says, laughing. “Pretty intense kissing for someone not sure what’s going on.”

“He asked me to the Halloween Ball,” I say, and she laughs. “Stop laughing, idiot. We’re just going to go on a date, maybe more than one – stop laughing – and see what happens.”

“Mum’ll be ecstatic,” she says, still giggling.

“Don’t tell her, Ginny,” I reply, looking at her. “Seriously. I’m not sure where it’s going and how we’re going to get there and I don’t want her to get too excited or carried away. Especially with Slytherin in the picture. If Bill and I do end up together – sleeping with Slytherin would be cheating and no matter what spin you put on that it isn’t a pretty picture. 

“You only have two weeks till he goes back in the ground, what do you plan to do about that? Two weeks is not long enough to end up in a relationship with my brother, and besides which I know you, Hermione.” She stops, taking my arm, turning me to face her. “I know you. Now he’s involved, now you’re feeling – whatever it is you’re feeling – for him, you won’t do anything without talking it through with him first. You won’t ask his permission, but you’ll argue the toss with him about it.” I take her arm and we carry on wandering. “How do you feel about him?”

“I had the biggest crush when we were younger – seriously. The Quidditch World Cup, when we were all at the Burrow together? He was so – out there.”

“The earring was the kicker?”

“The earring helped,” I say, laughing. “The earring, the boots, and the ponytail – he looked like a biker guy and I guess I liked it.”

“Sweet. And now?”

“Well, he’s still looking like a biker guy, he’s still devastatingly handsome, despite the scars and – no, actually, I think the scars just add to it all. And he’s a genuinely sweet, funny guy who is prepared to fall a little bit for me, however temporary or permanent, despite the mess I’m in. And I guess there is a part of me that wants to pick him up and put him back together.”

“You sound pretty sure about how you feel to me, Hermione,” she says, softly. “He makes your stomach flip when he smiles at you, he makes your skin tingle if he’s nearly touching you, in anticipation of that touch, and you can feel him in a room before you see him in the room.”

“Yes,” I say, staring at her. “How’d you know that?”

“Because it’s what I feel with Harry,” she says, simply. “I feel him, constantly.”

“Well, shit, Ginny. What do I do now?”

“Enjoy the ride,” she laughs. “Enjoy the ride and hold on. Wherever this goes – I’m glad he’ll have you for it.” We turn; start meandering back to the castle. “I love you, Hermione,” she says. “I do – you’re the big sister I never had and always longed for. Even though I was only a year younger, I pretty much idolised you. I wanted to be like you – smart, independent, fierce, loyal. I wanted to be you, really, because of what you’d already done. You were the stuff of living legend even at twelve years old. You’d fight with those boys, and how many times did I listen to Ron talk about you and how annoyingly clever and brave you were? But he’d always come back to how you’d helped save them, time and again. How many times has Harry said he owes everything to you? How many times has Harry said to me that if it weren’t for you being there, you’d never have made it through first year? I know it was you doing the research that saved me in second year, that it told them how it was getting around the school. I know it was you that worked out which potion to drink so Harry could move forward to face Voldemort and you could go back to look after Ron. I know it was your Time-Turner that saved Sirius, Buckbeak and Harry in third year. I know that in fourth year, you saved Harry with those dragons, taught him the Summoning Charm. I know that it was you in fifth year that took the curse from Dolohov, and how you went with Harry even though you knew, you knew something wasn’t right. But you went because you cared, because that was your friend and there was no way you were going to let him go off alone. Sixth year, I know you would have gone with Harry in a heartbeat and I know you would have given up your life to save him. And do I really need to talk about what you did in seventh year? You fought with Harry and gave up an entire year of your life to him. Because once, you told him that you would never abandon him. You performed incredibly complicated, difficult magic to save your parents and then went and got them, performing yet more incredibly difficult, complicated magic. You literally removed them from your life for a year, to save everyone you loved. You fought for him, for the Light, for all of us. You offered to go with him to absolute certain death because you knew why he was leaving during the Battle. They would have killed you, Hermione, and still you stood and offered to go so he wouldn’t need to go alone.” She swings around to face me. “I owe you absolutely everything I have. You could do all that; you deserve, just now, just for once, to put yourself first! Just once, Hermione, think about what you want, and fuck everyone else. Do what you want, not what you have to do.”

“Ginny, I –“

“Just once, Hermione. Tell me now, honestly, what you want.” So I meet her eyes, and I say the unsayable, I say what it is I want, not what I know I need to say to be right. 

“I want Bill. And I want Salazar dead.”


	18. Chapter 18

GPOV

There is nothing I can say in response to Hermione. I asked her for the truth and she gave it to me, and I cannot fault that now. I go back inside with her, and she turns the conversation to Halloween.

“What are you going as on Friday?” she asks.

“No idea. I’m not sure what this – fancy dress is.”

“Wizards don’t have fancy dress? You poor things,” she says, laughing. “You pick a thing, and come dressed as it.”

“I know what fancy dress is – I meant what are we meant to come as?”

“Something scary and Halloween related. In the Muggle world, witches are very popular.”

“What?” I ask, laughing. “We look just like Muggles!”

“Not in Muggle fairy tales we don’t. You paint your face green and wear a pointy hat, maybe carry a broomstick and a black cat.”

“OK, I get most of that but why the green face?”

“That’s generally how witches are drawn in Muggle books – green face and warts. Especially the evil ones.”

“Wouldn’t it have been so much easier if Bellatrix had a green face and warts?”

“I know, right. Could have spotted her straight off.”

“So what else do Muggles dress as for Halloween?” I ask her, curious.

“Vampires, zombies, ghosts, evil clowns. In more recent years, you could dress as anything from a prisoner to a nurse, as long as you threw some fake blood over it. I wonder what witches dress as.”

“Well, if it’s meant to be scary – we’ve got vampires too, and Hinkypunks, Grindylows, Blast Ended Skrewts –“ 

“I will be thrilled beyond all reasonable belief if you come dressed as a Blast-Ended Skrewt. But it doesn’t necessarily need to be scary – McGonagall did just say fancy dress,” she smiles.

“What will you come as then?” I ask.

“Ah! For that, you must wait and see!” We spend our afternoon messing about in her room, and getting homework done. She’s going back into classes tomorrow, under my watchful eye and Madame Pomfrey’s close supervision. She needs to be careful about overdoing it but she should be fine. Hopefully, anyway.

I can’t help but really worry about her, though. Not because of her health – no, simply being out of the hospital seems to help there. I worry because she’s going to crack soon, because how could she not? How can one person stand up under this much pressure? The days start to drift by. She avoids Salazar’s eye when she does see him, she rejects his requests to meet, and she refuses his tentative attempts to speak to her. I can see what she’s doing; she’s shutting down against the inevitable. She turns instead to the one thing that has never, ever failed her. 

Her research into the prophecy, and the associated history of all prophecies, becomes nothing short of frenzied. She is determined to find the loophole; she is determined to find a way to keep the man alive without needing to touch him. She does not want more blood on her hands, even if it is his. Not even her hatred of all he stands for can persuade her that she has the right to deny him a second chance, even if she feels he doesn’t deserve it. She has given herself until All Hallows Eve to find a way, just ten days to find either a way out, or accept that the only way out is the way stated in the prophecy. And in those days, as they slip past her, as they are yanked from her grip despite her efforts to cram as much into each and every second as she can, she seeks solace in the arms of my brother.

Bill stands beside her as she fights what cannot be beaten. I never ask either of them what it costs them. I don’t need telling that Bill is falling in love with her, fast, hard and deep. Who knows if it will last, Bill knows better than anyone that just because you fall in love with someone that it might not be forever. Maybe for both of them, what love they have found together is enough for now. Either way, they stand together while she fights what she must know can’t be beaten.

After Transfiguration two days before Halloween, when Hermione has once again rushed out to go back to the library, Professor McGonagall calls me aside. When Professor Snape also sweeps in I can guess what it is they want.

“Has she found anything?” Snape asks, getting right to the point. I shake my head.

“No. Every waking minute that isn’t spent on lessons or homework, she’s trying to find out how flexible this prophecy might be.”

“It won’t work.”

“Tell me about it. When she first found out about it, she and I spent hours searching for a way out of it, and we found research going back centuries – people who were determined he would never be raised again tried to find ways out of it.”

“If there was anything we could do, we would have done it,” Professor McGonagall says.

“Well, no point going on about would have or could have,” Snape retorts. “Will she do it, in the end?”

“I don’t know,” I reply. “And that is what scares me. If you’d asked me before he was actually here, I might have said yes – that in the end, she would do it. She would save him and do it no matter the cost to herself because she wouldn’t be able to actively doom a man to death if she could save them. She did it for you, Professor,” I say, addressing Snape. “Before she knew what you’d done for the War, when she still believed you had killed Dumbledore out of loyalty to Voldemort. She found the way to save you in the middle of a battle and did it. Because that is what Hermione does, she saves people. But I don’t know that she can save him. I don’t know that this Hermione can do it.”

“This Hermione?” Professor McGonagall asks. “How do you mean, Miss Weasley?”

“The Hermione who saw Harry dead. The Hermione who was tortured at Malfoy Manor and the Hermione who offered to go with Harry into Voldemort’s clutches because she couldn’t bear the thought that he would die alone. She spent all her compassion and all her energy in the War and I don’t know that she has enough left to willingly bed a man she hates, even if it would spare his life.”

“Not when she’s getting a glimpse of what she could have,” Professor McGonagall murmurs. I look at her, wondering how much she knows, and how much she guesses at. “With Mr Weasley now in her corner, I mean.” Snape clears his throat.

“Well, then, all we may do is support her. Does she have a plan if she cannot find a way out of this?”

“I don’t know. She has given herself until Halloween to find a way, if one exists. I don’t know what she intends to do if she should fail.”

“Just two more days – she gives herself only two more days to find the way out? If anyone deserves to find the way – Hermione deserves to find the way.” I nod, almost miserably.

“And if she cannot find it, then she’ll have four more days to make the decision,” Snape says.

I stop by the library on my way to dinner, but Madam Pince says she hasn’t seen Hermione since the lunch hour. I feel the icy ball of fear settle in my stomach. Where has she gone? What could she have done or found that would cause this disappearance? I hurry down to dinner, hoping against hope that Hermione is there, that she will have the book that gives her a way out of her obligations and finds the loophole she so desperately needs there to be. 

She isn’t there, and as I lock eyes with Bill, I know without needing to ask that he hasn’t seen her either. My immediate reaction is to scan the staff table, but Slytherin is in position beside Snape, alone and not looking any smugger than normal. McGonagall frowns to see me alone, and Bill is already walking down the Hall towards me, a look of concern already spreading over his face. So he hasn’t seen her, it’s unlikely that she has accepted the prophecy and slept with Slytherin, and we now have the issue that it’s been at least an hour – since she left Transfiguration – since anyone saw her. I didn’t think to ask where she was going when she rushed out, because why on earth would I when she’s spent every possible minute of the last eight days locked into the library and fighting to find a way around the prophecy. 

But she has gone, and with such a big castle, we cannot hope to find her if she chooses not to be found.


	19. Chapter 19

GPOV

Harry, McGonagall and I convene a meeting in her study, attempting to hide from Slytherin that his one chance at life has to all intents and purposes done a bunk. Bill is searching the castle, with the help of Nearly Headless Nick and some of the other ghosts. 

“Can either of you think of anywhere she might have gone?”

“Assuming she’s left the castle – and I think she has – no. I can’t think of anything. If she’s still somewhere in the grounds, it will be worth asking Hagrid if he has seen her, or trying to contact Firenze to ask if she entered the forest,” Harry says.

“Why do you think she’s no longer in the castle?” 

“This – this is a map,” Harry says, pulling a blank parchment from one pocket and removing his wand from another. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” he murmurs. The Marauder’s Map opens up, and McGonagall’s eyebrows nearly reach her hairline.

“So this is how you did it at school? I admit that I always wondered. And how does it work?”

“The map shows everyone in the castle, exactly where they are at any given time. See – here’s us three now, in your office Professor. And – yes, there’s Bill, see – down in the dungeons?”

“And Hermione isn’t on here?” 

“No.”

“The Room?” I ask. He shakes his head. 

“No, I don’t think so – at least I can’t be sure but I doubt it. I asked the Room to let me in to see her and it didn’t work.” 

“So the Map shows castle and grounds?”

“Yes, at least they show what was here when the Map was made.”

“Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs,” McGonagall reads. Her brow furrows. “Potter – was this made by –“

“Yes,” he says, grinning. “Dad. And Sirius and Remus, obviously.” He omits Pettigrew. McGonagall smiles. 

“This explains a lot about them too. But anyway, now is not the time. The Forest isn’t complete?”

“No, so if she has gone in there we wouldn’t know unless we saw her going in.”

“So she isn’t in the castle, and not on the grounds. Is Hogsmeade on here?”

“No. She might have gone there, it’s worth checking as the closest place.”

“I’ll send a teacher. But if she isn’t there?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says, scrubbing his hands over his face in frustration. “Ginny, could she have gone to Molly?” Mum left to go home after breakfast. I shrug.

“Maybe,” I say.

“Could she have gone to see her parents?”

“No, they don’t know about this.” Harry isn’t surprised by this, but McGonagall raises her eyebrows. “She didn’t want them to worry,   
not after the war and what she did to keep them safe. Plus how could she tell her parents that?”

“Right,” McGonagall says, standing. “Harry, find Bill and go to Hogsmeade with him. You two search the village, ask everyone. Miss Weasley, Floo your mother – use this fireplace – and ask her if she has seen Hermione. If she has not, ask her to Floo round as many people as she can think of – all the old Order, see if anyone has seen Hermione. I will go to Hagrid, and ask him to make contact with the centaurs, and have them search the Forest. We will meet back here in two hours, if nobody has found her. Obviously if someone does find her, send a Patronus to inform the rest at once. Miss Weasley – once you have Flooed your mother, find Mr Wingnut, and have him convene the Prefects. Pull people out of classes, tell any teachers it is done on my authority. Have the Prefects and Mr Wingnut meet us by the Forest. You are to take this Map of Harry’s, then join Harry and Bill in Hogsmeade. Alright by everyone?”

“Yes Professor,” Harry says. He picks up his cloak from the back of his chair and leaves rapidly. I cross to the fireplace as McGonagall hurries after him. 

I take a handful of Floo Powder, throw it into the flames and step into them. Dusting myself off the other side, I reflect that like Harry, I prefer brooms. 

“Mum?”

“Ginny? What are you doing here?” she calls back, bustling out of the kitchen. Something must show on my face, because she looks concerned at once. “What is it, what’s happened?”

“Hermione, have you seen her?”

“Not since I left the castle, why?”

“She’s disappeared. Mum, we have to find her; God knows what she could be doing or what she might have done. Professor McGonagall asks you to Floo round, all the old Order, ask everyone –“

“Of course, of course, I’ll do it at once. Fortunately we have plenty of powder for once. If I find her?”

“Tell her to go back to Hogwarts and wait in Professor McGonagall’s office. Then send a Patronus to me.”

“Very well.” She asks no more questions and I return to the castle. Once I’ve found Joe and passed on McGonagall’s message, he says he’ll get the Prefects and sends me to Hogsmeade. I run the whole way and find Bill and Harry just leaving the Three Broomsticks. 

“Well?” I demand, panting. 

“Rosmerta hasn’t seen her. Now there’s three of us, let’s split, it’ll take less time. I’m going to see Aberforth, ask him. I’ll take the south end of the village, you two take east and west and then meet back here to go north and check out the Shack.” Bill strides off as soon as Harry finishes talking, and I hurry down a side street towards the bookshop and Zonko’s. 

Forty-five minutes later, we meet back on the main street and Bill looks terrible. He’s white as a ghost and his scars stand out lividly against that pallor. 

“Nobody’s seen her in days,” I say, frustrated. “I’ve even been knocking on doors, asking the residents and nothing. I don’t think she was ever here.”

“The Map?” Harry asks, with no hope whatsoever. 

“No,” I say, miserable now. “I’ve been checking every ten minutes and nothing at all. Bill?”

“Nothing. I tried knocking on doors too and not a thing. Let’s start moving towards the Shack, we’ll call in at the Post Office on our   
way.”

We do so, and Bill approaches the counter.

“Excuse me, have you seen Hermione Granger today?”

“Not today, but she was in here early yesterday morning – very early, I’d only just opened.”

“Can you tell us what she wanted?” I ask, shoving Bill out of my way. 

“She wanted a fast owl down to Wiltshire, never told me the exact address. She already had the letter with her. I provided the bird – he came back this morning.”

“Did she tell you who the letter was for, or did you see the outside?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“OK, thank you,” I say, dragging Bill out. “Who does Hermione know in Wiltshire?” I ask, blankly. “It’s not where her parents live, is it?”

“No, they live in London,” Harry says. “Besides they don’t know anything.”

“It may not be relevant – it might be a coincidence.”

“Sure, the day before she vanishes completely, she goes to all the trouble of sneaking out, coming down here and paying for an owl to a stranger in Wiltshire instead of just using a regular school owl.”

“So she’s writing to someone she doesn’t want us all to know about.” Harry runs a hand through his hair and glances at his watch. “We need to get back anyway. McGonagall might know.”

When we return to the castle, McGonagall and Mum are both waiting for us. 

“Nothing,” Mum says, before I can even speak. “Nobody’s seen her. No sign in the Forest either. Did you –“

“The Post Office man saw her – he said that yesterday morning she was there when he opened, and got a fast owl.”

“Did he know who it was to?”

“No, but she wanted an owl to Wiltshire. We’ve been trying to think, but we don’t know anyone in Wiltshire.”

“Wiltshire? Where in Wiltshire?”

“He didn’t know, she didn’t tell him the full address, just Wiltshire. The owl was back by this morning, he doesn’t know if it was used for a return message.”

“Can anyone remember if an owl came for her this morning?”

“Yes,” Bill says. “I remember now, one did come. She didn’t open the letter, she said it could wait and she’d read it later.”

“Can you remember what the owl looked like or did the letter have a seal on it?”

“I didn’t really get a look at the letter but the owl was beautiful, a tawny, big bird – with one yellow eye, one dark.”

“Malfoy,” Harry says, suddenly. 

“What?” I ask, looking round, confused. “What about him?”

“The owl, it’s Malfoy’s owl.”

“And he lives in Wiltshire – or at least that’s where the Manor is,” Professor McGonagall says. “Although I didn’t realise he’d remained –“

“Why would she do that?” I demand. “Out of all the things she could have done the day before she makes her decision, why write to Malfoy?”

“Draco was the only one to get a full pardon,” McGonagall say, slowly. “Narcissa is under house arrest but not at the Manor, she’s at the Malfoy residence in Bulgaria and Lucius is in Azkaban. So if she has gone to the Manor, it is to see him.”

“Actually,” a quiet, hoarse voice interrupts, “she came to use our library.” Harry turns, and we look up to meet the eyes of Draco Malfoy, standing uncertainly before the fireplace.


	20. Chapter 20

_Draco,_

_I need your help. Specifically I need access to the library at the Manor. The library at Hogwarts has failed me and I am in desperate need of research into prophecies. If you could pull out any books the Dark Lord studied regarding prophecy, I would be grateful. If it is convenient for you, I can come to the Manor tomorrow – just send an owl to confirm. I trust in my time of need I can rely on you, if only for the debts you owe to Harry._

_Yours, Hermione Granger_

“So she’s been with you. I don’t understand why she didn’t just tell us,” Harry says, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“Potter, when I stepped out the fireplace you tried to hex me,” Draco points out wearily. “Do you think she didn’t tell you because she thought perhaps you wouldn’t approve?”

“Yes,” Bill interrupts while Harry is puffing himself up for what promises to be a lengthy rant. “And I’ll apologise for Harry while he thinks things over. Is she still at the Manor?”

“Yes, I left her there, but I’d better be getting back. She doesn’t know I came – I figured I’d best tell you where she was and – well, technically I’m breaching the conditions of my arrest.”

“Of course, Draco. And I’ll vouch if the Ministry asks. Would we have permission to come through the Floo once we’ve spoken?” McGonagall says.

“Sure,” Draco says, shrugging. “I’m allowed visitors, as long as they don’t go against the Ministry’s list.” He turns back to the fireplace but pauses, turning back to Bill. “I don’t know what’s going on here, I really don’t, but I – I want you to think, before getting angry with her. She must have been truly desperate to turn to me and to willingly return to the Manor – given what happened there during the War.” He leaves then, quietly, and Bill turns to Harry.

“What happened at the Manor?”

“The Manor is where they took us when we were caught by Snatchers during the War. Bellatrix tortured her there.”

“She – what?”

“She never said?”

“I knew she’d been tortured,” Bill replies. “Of course I knew. But I didn’t know where, and I still don’t know how –“

“This is perhaps, not the time,” McGonagall says, gently. “And it is Miss Granger’s story to tell. Now, as we have the permission of Mr Malfoy to visit his home, I will go and see her. No, Harry, no, Ginny – it is probably best if I go alone.” Bill agrees before we can, and she steps towards the Floo, before we can say anything about it. She has the powder in her hand, when a spinning form appears, and Hermione scrambles out of the fireplace. She doesn’t even seem to see us and bolts out of the door. We can hear her footsteps receding as she runs down. Bill follows her at breakneck speed, and it’s only McGonagall literally seizing Harry that stops him going too. She kneels by the fire this time, and puts only her head in. We can hear her questions, but not the replies Draco apparently gives her. “Well? Which book? Please – no, I’m not sure. Thank you, Draco. I appreciate what you’ve done. Could I see the pages?” There’s a pause, while Harry is all but dancing on the spot. For good measure, I move slightly, and plant a foot on the hem of his cloak so he can’t go rushing off somewhere while McGonagall has her back turned. “No, I can’t either. Sorry, Draco – I can’t. It’s her private business. Of course. Goodbye, Draco.” She withdraws her head, and with some sympathy for the unpleasantness of Firecalls, Harry conjures a goblet of water, passing it over. “Thank you, Harry. Draco is unaware of what suddenly caused the strange behaviour of Miss Granger. He showed me the book she was using, but it seemed useless to me.”

“Fine,” Harry says impatiently. “Can I go and find her now?”

“You may not.” She holds up a hand before he can say anything. “You may examine your extraordinary map and you may ascertain where she is. _If_ – and I place great emphasis upon that if, Mr Potter – she is not with Slytherin, or Mr Weasley, you may go to her. I feel she should not be alone.” Harry yanks the map out, and taps his wand back to the parchment.

“Hermione Granger,” he says, clearly. The Map rearranges itself, and Harry bends over it. “There – she’s with Bill now, and heading for – the library, looks like.”

“Then she’s accompanied. The worst thing we could do is crowd her. You know Miss Granger, Harry,” she says, very gently. “Would she want three or four people fussing around her?”

“No,” Harry admits, sullenly. “Plus if she’s in the middle of a thought she won’t thank us for interrupting. When we were revising for OWLs she stabbed me with a quill for interrupting a translation she’d just worked out.”

“I remember that,” I say, brightly. “That was funny.”

“It was not,” Harry returns. “I’ve still got a mark.” We watch the map, and see her race around the library, leave, and head for the stairs.

“What’s she doing?” I ask.

“Looking for someone. I would imagine she’s looking for Salazar.” There’s a perfunctory knock at the door then, and Professor McGonagall calls out for them to enter. Snape limps in carefully. “Severus?”

“Professor. I didn’t realise you had company.”

“Do you need a word in private?”

“No – this concerns Miss Granger, and I have no doubt both Miss Weasley and Mr Potter are fully aware of the situation. She sent me a Patronus, asking me to come up here, and to wait for her. She advised she would join us when she had located Salazar.”

“Who is where?”

“I took the sensible measure – I sent Patronuses to both her and Salazar to tell them to meet us here. She seemed hell-bent on manually searching the castle. She seems to not be thinking quite clearly. The – er – otter I received was rather agitated.” From the odd expression that crosses McGonagall’s face, I’m not the only one who is finding the idea of an agitated Hermione sending Snape an urgent otter to order him to McGonagall’s office. Otters are simply not designed for urgency. Before anyone can make jokes about it, there is a knock, and the door swings open to admit Salazar. He hesitates to see the audience, but his scowl soon resumes.

“Have I been summoned for a scolding?” he sneers. “I haven’t so much as seen Miss Granger today, never mind speaking to her.”

“You are correct in that you are here because of Miss Granger, but as far as we know, not for a scolding.” We get no further, because running footsteps sound and Hermione bursts back in. Snape’s assessment of agitated doesn’t cover it.

She looks positively wild. She’s obviously been tugging her hair and it’s slightly matted, and there’s ash from the Floo on her face. Bill looks half-afraid, half-saddened and he stands only a pace behind her. He looks as if he’s bracing to catch her.

“Everything,” she says, looking only at Salazar, “everything depends on what you say now, to me. I wouldn’t have raised you if I had had a choice, I would have happily let you rot in the ground forever. God knows I’ve suffered enough in my life, I would not have chosen willingly to do this – if you interrupt me, I swear I will hex you. I wanted witnesses for it; I wanted people to see that I gave you the chance. I want you to tell me why I should save you, Salazar.”


	21. Chapter 21

GPOV

“I wanted witnesses for it; I wanted people to see that I gave you the chance. I want you to tell me why I should save you, Salazar.” There is breathless silence, as he stares at her and she looks back at him. 

“Why?” he asks, almost blankly. “You want me to give a reason?”

“Yes,” she replies, shortly. “Tell me why I should save you.”

“I was – I believed –.” He tails off, looking rather foolish, and Hermione raises her eyebrows.

“You believed I would save you for the sake of saving a life. No, Salazar – I want you to give me an actual reason to save you, I want you to tell me why you deserve another chance. I’ve been trying for days to find a way out of this, Salazar, I have tried to find a way around the prophecy so I do not need to bed you to save you and there’s none. Helga’s prophecy is watertight, there’s no getting out of it or getting round it or fooling it. So if I am to save you, we have to go to bed with you and by God, Salazar I don’t want to go to bed with you. Not now, not ever. So you give me a reason to. Tell me why you want another chance; tell me what you’d do with your second chance.” 

“May I have some time to think on it?”

“You don’t already know why I should do this? Of course you don’t. All along you’ve been arrogant enough to assume you’d be alive by the end of your month, regardless of what you say or do. Well, the month is almost up, Salazar. Halloween is in two days – less than two if you consider it’s nearly dinner time – and then there’s three more full days. Then the fourth day after Halloween is your last day. Today is October 29th, Salazar. By November 4th, I must make a choice, and I am giving you a chance to help me make it.”

“The first, then,” he says. “I will give you my reason on the first day of November, by dinner time on that day you will have your reason.”

“Then get out and think,” she says, staring at him. “Get out and think about what you would have me do, Salazar.”

The silence after he leaves is touchable, it is a thick mist that leaves a taste and I cannot take my eyes off Hermione. Bill moves forward and puts his hands on her shoulders and she physically sags beneath his hands. She looks ill, she looks exhausted, and Bill can see it. His arms go around her; he brings her forward and puts her into a chair. Before he can ask, Harry is holding a glass with an amber liquid in it. He pushes it into her hand and she drinks. She coughs at the burn of whatever it was, and manages a smile.

“Brandy?”

“You’ve had a rough day,” he replies, shrugging. “Thought you might need a pick me up. Better?”

“Yes,” she says, smiling. Pink is slowly returning to her cheeks.

“Good,” Harry says, and his own smile vanishes to be replaced by a glare. “What in God’s name were you playing at, Hermione? Vanishing like that, not even a note to say where you’d bloody gone? Not even a hint that you were alright, for all we know you were planning anything! Do you know how worried we’ve been, all of us? We’ve had half the Order looking for you! We’ve had the Prefects searching the Forest! You could have been dead, Hermione, how could you do this?” Hermione looks alarmed.

“But – I did leave you a note! On my table in the library! I didn’t tell you this morning because you would have bitched and moaned and complained and tried to stop me and I didn’t have time to argue. Draco had books, I knew he would have – Voldemort spent two years using the Manor as a base and research source, I needed those books.”

“You – you left a note.”

“Yes! You mean to say you didn’t go to my table?”

“Why would we!”

“Why wouldn’t you? I assumed that was the best place to leave it, I figured when I didn’t show up for lunch, Ginny would go to the library and find me – thus finding the note.” Harry looks like he’s about to have a stroke, and slowly turns to me.

“Don’t even think about it,” I snap. “Nobody else thought of it either. We even asked Madam Pince if she’d seen you.”

“Oh, she wasn’t around when I left it. Must have been in her office.” Hermione points her wand at the glass she holds and it fills with water. “Look, I’m sorry! But can any of you honestly say you would have just let me go?”

“I would have,” Severus says, blandly. 

“Obviously, Severus,” Hermione says. “But you also would have felt duty bound to inform the Headmistress of my absence.”

“Yes,” he says, slowly. 

“And I perhaps would have attempted to persuade you not to go.” Hermione nods.

“That’s why,” she says, gently. “I had to. I had to – I had to go before I lost my nerve. I couldn’t have an argument about it because I   
would have lost my courage to do the thing, I would have allowed you to talk me out of it, and I needed the books! The answer wasn’t there – but there was every chance it could have been. And I had to go at once, while I had the courage to do it. Harry – please don’t be angry with me.” Harry looks away from the portrait of Dumbledore and looks at her. He’s never turned his back on her when she has asked for his help. 

“I did what needed to be done,” she says, and I can hear the plea in her voice. “I’m sorry. But I had to do it Harry!” He sighs.

“I know, Hermione. I know.” 

Bill takes her out then, and I grasp Harry’s hand. McGonagall looks at us. 

“Harry – you are no longer my student, and I accept I cannot instruct you anymore. But, Miss Weasley, I expect you to not allow this to   
become a subject with Hermione. I will speak to her tomorrow – after I have ascertained if possible if she did indeed leave the note she referred to. While I understand her logic to a certain point, as a student here she had no right to leave the castle without permission and I will address that matter myself. But, Harry, I would prefer it if this did not become conversation and I certainly wouldn’t expect you to berate her any further.”

“No, Professor, I won’t,” Harry says, looking contrite. “I didn’t mean to upset her – I understand too. But after what happened at the Manor – I fear for her.”

“That’s normal,” Severus says, surprisingly gently. “However, she’s a grown woman, Potter. You cannot hang over her for the rest of her life in fear something may happen. She must fight her own wars.” I stand up then. 

“May we go, Professor? And will you tell my mother that Hermione is OK?”

“Certainly. Oh, Severus – wait a moment, I’d like to speak with you.” Harry shows signs that he might ask to stay and I take his hand. 

“Come on Harry,” I say, firmly. “Let’s go and get some dinner.” I have to more or less drag him at first, but he gets the gist and agrees to come. 

I keep conversation light at dinner. Harry uses the Map to verify that Hermione is in her room – with Bill, interestingly enough – and then grudgingly engages in chat about Halloween.

“Are you staying for it?” I ask. He shrugs.

“Don’t know.”

“Well, shall I ask Professor McGonagall if you can?”

“She already said I could.”

“Well then, you might as well.”

“I don’t know. The Yule Ball was a bloody disaster –“

“That was different, Harry,” I say, sternly. “You were fourteen and dealing with the Triwizard stuff. You’ll have a date this time.”

“I had a date last time,” he points out, smiling now. I smile back; pleased he seems to be allowing himself to be distracted slightly.

“A proper date. What will you dress as?”

“Spiderman,” he says promptly. “I had the costume delivered to the Post Office in Ottery St Catchpole and had Percy owl it to me.”

“What is a spider man?” I ask, blankly. 

“Oh Ginny. Finished eating? Good. You need an education.” He takes me out then, and I laugh as he drags me to his room. Safely distracted, I can be assured that for tonight, he won’t hunt down Hermione - and that by morning, he will have calmed down enough to not do it. 

For tonight, I can rely on Bill to keep her safe.


	22. Chapter 22

HPOV

 

Once we get safely to my room, I all but fall into Bill’s arms. I can feel the tears hot under my eyelids but I bury my face in his shoulder and screw my eyes closed as tight as I can, in a bid not to let them fall. Without questions his arms go around me and he strokes y hair and he sways gently on the spot.

                “It’s OK to cry you know, Granger,” he says, so quietly it’s near enough a whisper. “If you need to have a cry, you have a good cry and get it all out your system, right? Then we can have a good long talk if you want, or we can just sit and I can just hold you, or we can work on your homework together – or I could go-“

                “No!” My voice is thick, too thick, I can feel my barriers breaking up, know that if I cry here it will the first time since the end of the War. “Don’t leave me, please,” I say, and even I hear how pathetic I sound.

                “I won’t, then,” he replies. “I’ll stay here.” I look up at him, and at the sight of his warm eyes full of care, I snap. With a wail, I bury my face back into his chest and sob in earnest.

 

He lifts me at some point, carrying me like a child over to my bed, which he manages to position us on with minimal jostling and just holds me. He does not murmur meaningless platitudes, he doesn’t tell me that it’ll be OK. He just strokes my hair and cradles me in his arms, and rests his chin on my head. I can feel his pulse under my cheek, and eventually I calm down, sobs trailing off into hitching breath once I’ quiet, I feel his shift a little, and murmur a charm. The vile build up of tears vanishes, leaving y nose and head feeling clearer.

                “Feel better?” he asks.

                “Yeah,” I admit quietly, because I do. It’s not just his Charm, it’s the act of crying – the tension that had seized my spine as soon as I looked up to see Malfoy Manor has gone, the strange terror that had wrapped its icy fingers around my heart when I saw the doors to the drawing room has lessened although I still feel it in my pulse, lingering on to beat a path along my scars. I run my hand over it, longing to rub it out like pencil, or at least to stop feeling my heartbeat there. Bill notices the movement, and I realise he doesn’t know – I’ve never told him what that woman carved into me, I’ve never told him it was me they chose to torture when they captured us. “Bill – I want to wash my face,” I say, struggling upright. “But – stay. Please stay. I have to tell you something.” He nods his agreement, and gets comfortable as I get up. I slip across to the bathroom.

 

After his Charm, I don’t really need to wash my face. There’s no build up to get rid of after all. But there’s something about the ritual of bathing my sore, slightly swollen eyes in cool water, and resting a cool flannel over them that finishes the calming process, and helps me feel more in control again. I stick my head out and see Bill still perched on the bed, smiling at me. I slip back into his arms, and this time I’m more or less lying down, resting my head in his lap. His hands drop at once to play with my hair. I don’t say anything right off. I don’t really know how to begin. I’m grateful that again, he seems to know not to prompt or push.

                “I’m not sure how to do this,” I admit. “Whether I want to face you, or be a wimp about it and tell my story to your left knee.” He chuckles.

                “My left knee is extraordinarily receptive to stories,” he replies, deadpan. “And a very good listener.”

                “Oh well that’s OK then. I’ll tell your knee. Feel free to allow your attention to wander in the meantime.” He laughs again, and we feel silent. His fingers dip into my hair, and touch my scalp cautiously.

                “You’ve got lovely hair,” he says, idly. “Soft. You think it’ll be frizzy – and it was once, I guess – but now it’s soft and smooth.”

                “You should see it first thing in the morning,” I say, before realising that could be construed as flirting, and as much as I enjoy some flirting, this isn’t the time. But either he misses the innuendo or he chooses not to bite. “Alright,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Alright, I’m going to stay down here. And I’m going to say it. And I want you to please – not interrupt, because if you interrupt I might not be able to say it all and you should know it all now. You can – you can ask questions at the end and if I can answer them, I will. OK?”          

                “OK,” he agrees, settling back into my pillows a little more. “I’m ready whenever you are,” he says, softly. I bring up my right hand, and rest it on his knee, and his hand comes up to mine. He holds it tight and I take a deep breath.

                “We were captured. Snatchers. We panicked, we tried to hide the sword but we weren’t quick enough. I jinxed Harry – Stinging Jinx. I knew I’d be recognised but it was imperative that they didn’t realise they had Harry too. But they found – they found Gryffindors’ Sword. And because they recognised me and Ron, they figured that it might be Harry too. So they didn’t take us to Hogwarts, they took us to Malfoy Manor. They tried to get Draco to identify Harry and I’m not stupid, he must have known it was Harry but he lied. He lied to his parents and Bellatrix. Even then we might have got away unharmed. They might have thrown us all into the dungeons but together, we could have made a plan together. But one of the Snatchers kept hold of the sword and Bellatrix saw it.” I pause. I gather the thoughts in my head; force them to remember that day. “She was very angry. She said Harry and Ron were to go to the dungeons – she wouldn’t let Lucius call Voldemort. She kept me back. She asked where we got the sword and I told her the truth, which was that we had found it. She used the Cruciatus Curse on e, I can’t remember how many times. I begged her to stop, I did not endure it in silence as I endured Salazar’s curse. I screamed. I’m not ashamed of screaming, I’m not even ashamed that I begged for mercy. I’ve never endured pain like it. Bellatrix was terrified; she insisted we had stolen it, that we had gone into her vault at Gringotts. She called Griphook to confirm my lie that the sword was a fake and he did – he lied too, insisted it was fake.” I tighten my grip on Bill’s hand “She was so arrogant that she never imagined Griphook would lie. She believed that the sword was fake, so she moved on from my deceit to my blood. She abandoned her wand for it – I can’t remember hearing why, I was just glad to hear it clatter on a table. If I’d known what was coming – well. I think I’d have started begging again.” I’m silent for a very long time then, and he desn’t say a word, although I can feel the occasional tremor in his legs. “There’s a part of me that wishes you knew this bit. Because I don’t know how to say it, I’ve never had to tell anyone before. Only Ginny, Harry and Ron know what she did to me then, and Draco Malfoy.” He speaks then, and it’s really good he does because suddenly I desperately need to anchor myself in a point and his voice acts as a lifebelt, which I grab and cling to as he comforts me.

                “If you can’t say it, don’t,” he whispers to me. “If you need more time, I understand, I can wait.” So I don’t say it, exactly. Instead, I roll up my sleeve and show him my forearm. I bury my face into the crook behind his knee and wait. I feel his warm fingers wrap around my wrist and raise my arm slightly; I can almost feel his eyes read the word.

                “You know the rest,” I say, muffled by his knee. “Dobby came. He saved us. Then Ron was there, pulling me up, holding me – then we came to you. And you took care of me even though we told you nothing. I remember that – that night, when I was barely conscious, I remember you and Fleur coming to me, and Fleur giving me potions before leaving. And you read to me. I don’t know what you read, but I remember your voice. It made me stop thinking, if only for a while.” His fingers stroke over the scars, and I pull my arm away abruptly. “Don’t, Bill.”

                “Why?” he asks.

                “It shames me. Every time I see it, I remember that I did nothing to defend myself. When she came at me with that knife I just – I just sat there. I did nothing to fight her off. I was meant to be the brightest witch of our age, and I could do wandless magic and I did nothing. I didn’t even try.” Suddenly, Bill is dragging me upright, and I meet his eyes.

                “Look at me,” he demands, his voice hoarse with anger. “I don’t ever want to hear you say that again. For God’s sake, Hermione. You’d been tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. When you’re in that much pain, and that frightened, and that tired – the human brain shuts itself down to cope. You fought as long as you could – you managed to lie, to Bellatrix Lestrange while she tortured you.”

                “I – there was more I could have done –“

                “No, Hermione,” he says gently. “You couldn’t have done more. By your logic, I shouldn’t have my scars, I should have fought Greyback – I was barely conscious and knew Wandless magic. My scars don’t shame me. Don’t let yours shame you.” He kisses me then, because I’m crying by then his thumbs rub away the tears and his mouth soothes my lips.

 

I let him lie me down, and I let him hold me until I feel sleep pulling me down into the dark.


	23. Chapter 23

HPOV

 

When I wake up, he’s not beside me anymore. But he is standing by my desk, and on that desk is a tray from which wafts excellent smells. I realise that I’m absolutely ravenous.

                “I got you dinner,” he says, grinning. “Figured you’d be hungry. Had Kreacher sort it out for me.”

                “Oh, Bill,” I say. “Angel. I’ll just splash some water on my face again.” I do so, and flit back out to find he’s been rearranging my furniture. He’s Transfigured my trunk into a dining table for two and put it in the middle of the room, and multiplied the desk chair so he has one too. He’s laying out the food, plates and cutlery. We eat in silence, and I’m grateful. “What time is it?” I ask, as I finish my dinner.

                “Half past eight,” he says, cheerfully. “You’ve woken up just in time for bed. Is your costume ready for Halloween?”

                “No, I’ll work on it tomorrow. Is yours?”

                “I meant to work on it today,” he says, with mock severity. “But someone went prancing off to Wiltshire.”

                “I left a note,” I retort. “It’s not my fault that none of you look for things properly.” He’s obviously puffing himself up for a lecture, but there’s a knock.

                “It’s me,” Ginny calls cheerfully. “Are you naked and indecent in there?”

                “Yes, come in,” I call back and she slips inside.

                “Hello – oh, you look much better,” she says, looking at me keenly. “This is good, because Professor McGonagall wants to see you.”

                “Oh boy.”

                “Yeah,” she grins at me. “I rather think you’re in trouble. Oh no, Bill – she was very specific. Just Hermione.”

                “Is she in her office?” I ask.

                “Yeah. Come on Bill. Let’s Levitate you down the stairs.” She gives us a very Malfoy-esque smirk. “Harry figured it out too.”

                “I don’t want to know Ginny.” I laugh, and leave them to it.

 

I give the password to the door, and on the way up, wipe my suddenly sweaty hands on my skirt. I know I shouldn’t have just left, and my rather flimsy defence of the note is probably not sufficient to stand up alone. It’s too soon after the War, with so many disappearances and casualties to just go off whenever I feel like it. I knock, and try to swallow with a suddenly dry mouth.

                “Enter.”

                “Professor,” I say, crossing the room to stand in front of the desk.

                “Sit down, Miss Granger.” She continues with some writing, and I sit in silence for as long as I can bear to.

                “Professor, I’m sorry –“

                “No, Miss Granger. I don’t want to hear your apologies. I found your note. Regardless of it, you had no right – no right _at all_ – to leave this school without telling a member of staff your whereabouts. You wasted people’s time today, you made people worry about you, you frightened your friends and the people who love you – including me.” I feel my cheeks heating up. “You are eighteen,” she says, her voice gentler now. “You are of age in both Magical and Muggle terms but whilst you choose to continue your education here, you are a student and therefore you are accountable just as any other student is. I am responsible for your safety and your wellbeing – and how can I be, if nobody knows where you are? You are no longer a child. I ask you not to act like it. What you did today was reckless and stupid.” She pauses, and I swallow. I refuse to cry again today. “With all of that said, Miss Granger, I do understand your reasoning behind doing it the way you did. It doesn’t make it right, but I understand it. You may go, Miss Granger.”

 

I all but crawl out of her office. I feel like I felt the day she found us after letting Norbert go to Romania with Charlie. The worst of it is that I know she’s right. Despite my nap, I’m worn out, and all I want to do is crawl into bed and hide. Bill has apparently gone back to his room, according to Ginny. I look at her closely.

                “You’re sneaking out, aren’t you?” I ask.

                “Going to spend some quality time with Harry,” she replies. “See you at breakfast.”

 

I trudge up to my room, and find that Bill has restored the furniture to its original position. A silvery fox-like creature with over-large ears waits on my bed. As I see it, it begins to speak.

                “Hello, Hermione,” Bill’s voice says. “I’ve gone back to my rooms for a shower. If you want me to come and tuck you up I will. Just send the fennec back with an answer.” It makes me smile, but all I want to do tonight is crawl into bed and hide until I feel like slightly less of a fool. I tell the fennec that, and it nods before sailing out the window.

 

I shower, brush my teeth and change into my pyjamas. Before I get into bed, I push the window open and lean out. Far, far below I can see the gleam of moonlight on the lake. I can just make out a dark figure on the edge on the lake, but I cannot tell who it is or what they’re doing. I wonder if it’s Salazar, pondering on his reason.

 

I wonder if there’s anything he can say to persuade me. In my heart, I doubt it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any one is wondering, Bill's patronus, the fennec, is a small desert fox, found primarily in Egypt. I strongly encourage you to have a Google - they're absolutely adorable.


	24. Chapter 24

SPOV

 

I pace slowly along the lakeside, and I reflect with almost a reverence on the last three bizarre weeks. I reflect on Hermione Granger, the strange girl with the wild eyes and the power to doom me back to the grave. There’s a light on in Gryffindor Tower, right at the top. I wonder if it’s hers. As I watch, it goes out, and the castle now is almost completely dark. I wonder where the Weasley boy is tonight, if he’s in her bed or if he’s alone in his own.

 

I take a certain vicious pleasure in thinking that he must be wondering too – will she sleep with me or will she choose not to? She was right about one thing though – I never imagined for even a moment that she would demand I give her a _reason_ to save me. Even once I met her and realised she would not just immediately jump into my bed, I still believed she would save me out of sheer altruism if nothing else. But it turns out that Hermione Granger has rid herself of her “saving people” complex. So I have to think.

 

What would I do with my second chance at life? Once, I would have said that I would bed the girl, discard her – whilst of course ensuring she was happy and secure for the rest of her life as a generous gesture, a magnanimous thank you for saving me – and set about re-establishing control of the school and continuing to run it.

 

But that was when I didn’t realise that there would have been so much change and so much violence within its walls. I would not be able to do that now; there would be fierce resistance from current staff.

 

I would, once, have said that my plan would be to run it without constant interference from Gryffindor and his pathetic fellow founders – to turn Hogwarts into the image I always held for it, sanctity for the Purebloods and the most talented of the Half-Bloods.

 

But that was when I didn’t realise how powerful a Muggleborn could be. That was before I knew that times would be so drastically altered.

 

Those reasons will not persuade her to save me. Those reasons will see me return to the grave. If I were to give them, I might as well get back in my tomb now with a book or two to pass the time. But I don’t know what else I could do with my time. I don’t know how else to live. Could I travel? Could I visit the far-flung corners of the world and see how times have changed? Could I tour the libraries of the world to learn the history I have missed? I could, of course, I am a rich man. My vault at Gringotts was apparently so well protected that not even the goblins could access it after my death. What inheritance I left to my son went to him automatically, the rest remained. I did it deliberately. I knew one day I would return – I could not abide the idea that I would return a pauper. Would that work, if I said I merely wanted to travel? Would she take it to mean that I intended to travel around recruiting? Perhaps if I promised her that I would not amass an army.                

                “Salazar?” a voice breaks my reverie, and I look up as Severus Snape limps down the shore. He looks at me keenly, before gesturing to a bench a few yards away. “Could we sit?” I follow him to the bench and he sits with a barely audible sigh of relief. He sees me looking at his leg. “The cold makes the wound stiff.”

                “What happened?” I ask.

                “The Dark Lord had a very big snake. I got bitten by said snake, in the leg, and the neck. Would have died if it wasn’t for Miss Granger.”

                “Is there anyone in the castle who isn’t in some kind of debt to her?” I ask, somewhat mulishly.

                “Probably not.” We sit silently, side by side, and without looking at him, I know we’re both looking towards my tomb. “I came to ask how your reason is coming.” I snort.

                “I was about to Summon my tomb back up and get in it,” I say. “I can’t even think of what I’d do with my life if she did save it. I couldn’t stay here, that was my original plan.” He sighs, and turns his head.

                “Kreacher!” A House-Elf snaps out of thin air, and bows to us both. He’s immaculately clean and wearing a tea-towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest.

                “Professor Snape,” he says, in a low, gravelly voice. “How can Kreacher be of assistance?”

                “Get us a bottle of Beaujolais nouveau, and two glasses,” he replies. The Elf vanishes, to reappear moments later holding the requested items. “Thank you, Kreacher.” He bows again, and disappears, leaving Severus to pour for us. He sets the bottle on the ground at our feet with great care. “Conversations like this should only take place in the company of a good wine.” He sips, and I do too out of politeness, to find it’s rather fruitier than most red wines, and cooler too. “It should be served fresher than this,” he says, critically. “Beaujolais is released for sale on the third Thursday in November and should be drunk then. But it will serve. Do you like it?”

                “It’s rather good.”

                “So, tell me how far you’ve got so far.”

                “I thought I could travel. But then I wondered if she’d see it as a ruse to recruit in order to return here an attempt a take-over. And look at me – I’m no older than thirty. I could live another hundred years. There isn’t enough to see.”

                “What was your original plan?” I grimace.

                “Bear in mind, please, that when I made this plan, I was under the impression that I wouldn’t be in such a different world.”

                “Alright,” he says, and I’d swear he hides a smirk as he buries his face into his wine glass.

                “I was going to take over the castle. Carry on running it. Turn it into the Hogwarts I always envisioned it to be, without Gryffindor interfering.”

                “You could tell her that.”

                “Oh yes. Do me a favour and get me a couple of really good books, won’t you? I’ll have three days to lie in my coffin before I die and I’ll need something to do.” He laughs. “I could just Polyjuice myself into the Weasley boy.” His laughter dies at once.

                “I hope you’re joking, Salazar. It’d save your life all right but not for long, because the moment she realised what you’d done, she would kill you. She wouldn’t hesitate either.”

                “Look, Severus,” I say, clutching the wine glass as if it’s a baton and waving it wildly. “I don’t know what to say! I want to live damnit! I want to have another chance, I want to spend another lifetime feeling the wind in my hair and knowing the touch of another woman if I could find one to have me! I want to drink wine at midnight with a friend and talk about the universe; I want to feel my hands go numb with cold and my face flush with heat again. I want to spend another lifetime experiencing this world and learning new things, pursuing knowledge as I once did! You know I built the library here? I want to see the great libraries again; I want to find out everything I missed. I want to learn about the Wars, I could visit Durmstrang and Beauxbatons and Ilvermory in America.” He looks at me keenly.

                “If you’ll take my advice, Salazar, you’ll tell her that, make that your reason. But be aware – she will want assurance on the blood purity front.”

                “I don’t even know anything about that any more. It was all so clear once. There weren’t many Muggleborns when I was alive and those that were around were not as powerful. It made sense then.”

                “And now?” he asks, without any trace of sarcasm or flippancy.

                “Now? Now I am faced with a witch whose power might – no, _does_ equal that of Helga and Rowena. And she doesn’t even _realise_ it! What have you people been teaching here? She doesn’t even come close to her potential. If she were to be properly taught, taught to safely tap into the power she drew on during the Duel – she might even rival Merlin. You know how _rare_ mass projection is? It took me twenty years to learn it. She did it without trying.”

                “Dumbledore was aware of how powerful she is,” Severus says, pouring himself another glass and pouring me one too. “He ordered that she never be told.”

                “Then he was a doddering old fool,” I snap.

                “In many ways, but not in this. She was unfortunate in her generation. With Voldemort newly defeated and then on the rise again, the world rightly feared such power. And Hermione could have twice his power. She would have terrified people. It would terrify people now.”

                “It’s not a reason to deny her an education –“ I start, before grinding to a crashing, screeching halt as I realise what I’ve said. Severus Snape smiles, finishing his wine. He stands; brushing down his robes and turning back towards the castle, throwing a parting remark over his shoulder.

                “I think you’ve found your reason, Salazar.”

 

I remain on the bench, my jaw hanging open as the moon dances on the gentle waves of the lake. By Merlin – what has she _done_ to me?


	25. Chapter 25

SPOV

 

With the next day being Saturday, the castle is a more constant hive of activity. Between meals, the Great Hall is full of donated robes, rolls of material that have been found from somewhere and general trimmings. Between lunch and dinner, I find an almost apoplectic Severus apparently on duty.                

                “So, what exactly is this?” I ask.

                “A foolish waste of everybody’s valuable time,” he snarls. “McGovern! If you do that again you will be polishing trophies tomorrow night!” The boy he addressed looks rather silly, and puts down the sword he’d apparently been playing with.

                “What’s going on?” I ask again.

                “Bloody Halloween,” he growls. “Fancy dress. They’re choosing their costumes. You missed Miss Granger, she came down for material first thing after breakfast.”

                “Fancy dress?” I ask, horror colouring my voice.

                “Yes. An idea worth of Dumbledore at his most stupid. Professor McGonagall has ordered it – and we are to participate in the fancy dress.”

                “I have to dress up?”

                “Or not come at all, apparently.” I pause and think.

                “What are you coming as?” He looks rather like he’d like to hex me.

                “I’m not,” he spits, bitterly. “I do not dress up.”

                “Oh.” We fall into silence. “I’ve decided to ask Miss Granger to join me for dinner on Monday evening.”

                “I see. At the castle?”

                “In a manner of speaking. There was a rather nice restaurant in Hogsmeade in my day. The Room of Requirement will suffice to replicate it. I will ask her to join me, and we can talk privately.”

                “A good plan.” He looks at me keenly. “She will appreciate that this part at least, will play out in privacy. She is tired of the publicity the rest of it has apparently necessitated. We can count ourselves lucky that the press has been occupied elsewhere.”

                “I must admit – and not out of arrogance – that I am surprised by this. I expected the papers to be full of it.”

                “I have seen to it that they felt their best interests lie elsewhere.” He doesn’t elaborate.

                “Thank you.”

                “I didn’t do it for you, Salazar. I did it for her sake. Fawcett!” he bellows, making several people jump. “My patience for your idiocy is rapidly diminishing. Either pick material or get out.” A boy scuttles from the hall and I decide I might be best off beating a hasty retreat. I remove myself from the Hall, and return to my rooms.

 

I spend some time reading, before realising that I’m bored. I set off again to wander the castle, and stumble upon the Weasley boy, coming along the corridor with an armful of greenish material and a twig broom. Is he hoping to fly it? It’s clearly just a broom.

                “Slytherin,” he says, almost courteously.

                “Weasley.”

                “Whats the why of the broom?” I ask.

                “It’s for Hermione’s costume. She’s going as a wicked witch.” I frown, not getting it. “The Muggle idea of a wicked witch,” he amends.

                “I don’t follow.”

                “Here,” he says, juggling things around so he can reach into his pocket. “She sketched this out so I could see what she needed.” He hands me a piece of scrap parchment. It’s very good, actually, showing a woman in a floor length, ragged black dress, complete with cape, pointed hat, and twig broom.

                “Well, this isn’t too far from the truth, I suppose –“

                “No, it gets better. Muggles thought all wicked witches were ugly women, with green faces, hooked noses and warts, normally old.”

                “Green faces?” I repeat, startled.

                “Mad, isn’t it? I mean, she tells me that it’s a more modern interpretation, since a – a film, she called it – came out called The Wizard of Oz and the wicked witch in that.”

                “So – a hag.”

                “More or less,” he agrees. “It’s a joke, but one only the Muggleborns will get.”

                “No, I get it. I think.”

                “Well. I’ll er – I’ll be best getting back to her. She’s made her dress but now she’s trying to make it look sufficiently ragged and it was not going well when I left.”

                “Yes. Certainly. Sorry.” We stand a little awkwardly, before he steps around me.

                “See you around, Slytherin.”

 

It’s an improvement over the day he threatened me with murder, that is certain. He made a concerted effort to be polite. It cannot be easy – whatever he has developing with Hermione is clearly deepening every day, and he isn’t alone in it. She’s step for step with him. I watch him go, and continue to walk. It isn’t long before I find myself outside the Room of Requirement. I ask it to become my old office and step through the doors. Yes, here it is. Mahogany wood, shelves of books, the banner behind the desk. The window shows the old view, the lake and the mountains. It’s good to be back in here. I wonder what happened to my original office. It was down in the dungeons. Perhaps Gryffindor had the place walled up.

 

I use some time to write out my thoughts, order them, to plan what I’ll say to her on the first, how I’ll say it. I spend time planning what I’ll ask the Room for, what I’ll do in respect of food – I’ll have to ask the Elves to deliver it in advance of her arrival, although that means she won’t be able to choose. No, that’ll be fine – she’ll assume that it will be more like a dinner party and that therefore she won’t be able to anyway. Severus Summoned an elf last night by calling his name but perhaps I’d better check with him if there’s a protocol.

 

I pull another sheet of parchment towards me.

 

_Miss Granger,_

_When we last spoke, you advised me that you required a reason to save my life. I believe now that I have that reason._

_To that end, I wish to invite you for dinner with me on the evening of November 1 st. I would meet you outside Gryffindor Tower – I believe the entrance remains guarded by the portrait of Lady Margaret Stokes, known to students as the Fat Lady. Shall we say at 7pm?_

_Please be assured that should this plan not be agreeable to you, I would be amenable to an alteration of these plans and would await your suggestion of where and when to meet. Please be further assured that I intend to remain within the castle, but that the meal would be a private affair. Your answer, whatever it might be, can therefore be given away from prying eyes._

_If you, at the end of our meal, find that you want further time, I will of course give it. I am aware of the deadline but would be prepared to wait for you nonetheless. In advance of this meal, I wish to offer you my sincere and earnest apologies for my behaviour towards you prior to this date. I have behaved appallingly and it is to my great shame that I am aware that despite this, you have tried where I did not._

_I will await your answer, with the owl I attach to this letter._

_Salazar Slytherin._

_P.S – I plan to “take” you somewhere without ever leaving the castle. Treat this as a clue._

I send it out of the window that now conveniently opens, and sit back. There are several long-forgotten tomes here and in a bid to pass the time and distract myself, I pick one off the shelf at random.

 

Her reply doesn’t come for nearly two hours. At the sound of the owl pecking at the window, I fling aside the book. I try not to think about the fact that I haven’t really read a single word of it. She writes in a rather cramped hand, but nonetheless it is neat.

 

_Slytherin,_

_I accept your invitation, and will wait for you outside the Tower. You are correct in that its guardian remains the Fat Lady._

_With regards to your apology, I should offer one of my own – I raised you with too many prejudices to treat you fairly, and some of the blame lies with me for failing to offer you a decent chance. I’m prepared to treat this dinner as somewhat a fresh start – we should not rehash old ground when we meet, we should treat it as a chance to actually get to know one another, which I am aware we should have done much earlier than this._

_If you don’t plan to attend the Halloween festivities, then I will see you on the evening of the first._

_In respect of your “clue” – Room of Requirement?_

_Hermione Granger._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So they've agreed to try. But how far will they get?


	26. Chapter 26

HPOV

The dance is fun, almost surprisingly so. Bill comes, dressed as a Grindylow, and I go as a witch. Pretty much everyone gets the joke pretty quickly, except the few Purebloods who were raised in such a way that they had no contact with the Muggle world. But once they cotton on, I get a lot of laughs out of it, especially about my twig-brush broomstick. Bill and I dance, we drink together, laugh and talk and hang out with Ginny, Harry, Joe and trade comments on costumes.

 

At half past eleven, as McGonagall is gently encouraging the party to wind down, Bill takes me into the grounds. He takes us down to the lake, where we sat together the day he kissed me and changed everything so much. In among the willow trees, we sit down together and he casts Heating Charms around us to keep out the chill of the October night. We have exactly four days left. Three more midnights – by the time the fourth dawns, I must have made my choice. I look up at the sky.

                “Nearly full moon,” I say, idly. “Feeling mad at all?”

                “Only about you.”

                “Oh, you –“

                “I’m serious.”

                “I wasn’t.”

                “I know,” he says, smiling at me. In the half-light cast by the moon, his eyes appear darker, his skin paler.

                “Bill – you don’t have to answer. But what, exactly, happens to you?”   

                “Well, it’s complicated.”

                “Try me,” I say, patting the bench.

                “OK,” he says, sitting down. “Mostly, I start to like my steak raw – not just rare. Kind of nasty, but there it is. I find it a lot harder to control my temper and various other – aspects of my emotions.”

                “Do you mean you get horny?” I ask him, smiling.

                “Yes, you tactless little minx,” he says, smiling down at me. “I get horny, OK. Really lustful, insatiable. All the animal instincts of me come out, I guess – I get rougher, a little less subtle, tactful. I try and avoid close encounters – not the sex ones, get your mind out the gutter, Granger – because I do fear that I may end up hurting people’s feelings.”

                “Well, none of that sounds very bad. I don’t know why Fleur couldn’t cope. Bitch.”

                “She’s not as tough as a lot of people. I don’t blame her. She isn’t like you; I could never have joked about it like this with her.”

                “She’s not like me in another way, either,” I say. “I get the impression that – she didn’t like the lusty side of you.”

                “You win,” Bill says laconically. I wriggle so my lips are next to his ear.

                “Well, Bill,” I whisper, not really sure what’s come over me. “I like it rough.” I hear his gasp not seconds before I am in his arms. He’s yanked me into his lap, straddling him. The skirt of my outfit has hiked up around my waist and he’s hard for me, I feel it.

                “Do you, little miss?” he asks, whispering as I whispered. There’s a slight growl in his voice. “You think you could handle it, take what I could give you and beg me for more?”

                “I don’t beg, Bill, I take.” My heart is pounding. I am noticing things about Bill I never did before – the way his bottom lip is fuller than his top, the small white scar on the bridge of his nose, the freckles with it. I see the fine lines at the corner of his eyes, betraying where they crinkle when he smiles, the freckle right on his left brow. He smiles, and there is something feral in how his lips pull back to show his teeth.

                “Don’t tease me, Hermione,” he says. “I warn you, it would be more than you could handle.”

                “Try me,” I say, and even I hear the plea.

                “Oh, but I thought you didn’t beg.”

                “Nobody but you,” I say. That seems to flick a switch. Tomorrow will be the full moon, and for a moment I wonder if it’s somehow affecting me too. I can see something in his eyes.

                “Are you sure you want this, Hermione? I – I can’t control it. I won’t be able to stop or slow down; I need your consent, please.” Human and wolf.

                “I give it, please – have me. I wanted to wait, I can’t wait, I just need you. I don’t know what this is. It might be madness, or lust – but all I know right now is that I want you in every possible way.”

                “We can go inside –“

                “Do you want to?” I ask.

                “Oh God forgive me – no. I don’t want to; I want to have you here in the dirt.”  An absolute thrill shoots through me. I see it clear, me on my hands and knees as he pounds into me, utterly selfishly.

                “Then have me.”

 

His hands are shaking with impatience and lust, but he undresses me slowly, taking first one nipple and then the other into his mouth, teasing them and biting until I am gasping. I get off his lap, and he looks concerned. He is clothed still, his trousers straining at his crotch. I am naked, and I can see the skin glowing in the moonlight. I turn my back and drop onto all fours. I look over my shoulder, and see his transfixed face.

                “Have me,” I say. “Have me until I scream.”

                “Oh, you’ll scream,” he promises me, removing his own clothes. He kneels behind me, and I feel his knuckles brush against me as his takes his cock in hand. Even the light touch makes me gasp. I arch my back, and press backwards, trying to find him. He obliges me, slipping inside so easily.

 

He fills me completely, even before he starts to thrust, I feel the head of his cock reach its limit and a thrill rockets through me. My toes scrunch and my hands take in a fist of dirt as I clench for a grip on something. He takes hold of my hips and he starts to push himself in and out. I moan. Every time he sheathes himself completely, I feel the pulse as he hits his limits, and I push back to encourage it, to increase the burn. But even so, as he picks up speed and force, as I jolt with the force of his thrusts and his hands change to my shoulders to increase his leverage, I realise I was not prepared for how mind-blowing this would be. My brain disengages from everything but pleasure, all I can see is the moon shining on the lake before us, all I can feel is his cock, all I can hear are animalistic grunts as he fucks me brutally hard, not caring that I lose the ability to even kneel and slump forward, moaning helplessly, not caring how loud I must be, moans fading towards cries, babbling his name as he starts to snarl behind me. I wish I could see his face. I manage to crane round, get a glimpse of his feral snarl, his narrowed eyes, his long hair falling into his eyes a little, sweat sheening on his face, the odd amber shade in those normally brown eyes, the animal forcing it’s way out from being kept locked away. I can’t keep the position, I have to turn away, and he’s right, I am screaming now, his name, profanity, pleas, and the fact that I am moments away from orgasm.

 

Even knowing it’s been burning inside me isn’t enough to prepare me. My toes clench up so tightly my feet cramp up, my hands scrabble helplessly in the dirt in front of me, my eyes blur and I clench so tightly I swear it must have hurt him. His hands are so tight on my shoulders I know I will bruise, and his howl is positively animal. He slumps down over me, pinning me into the dirt, panting in my ear. I’m no better, gasping for my air, recovering, feet still burning with cramp. His arms go around me. I’d stay like this forever, but my back is protesting now pleasure is fading and I wriggle. He rolls off, but doesn’t get up. He lies on his back on the ground, the moon picking up the sheen of his sweat. Revelling in my nakedness before him, I stand. He looks at me like a thirsty man gazes at water, as if I am here to save him. I walk slowly to the shores of the lake and stand there, the moon reflecting. I hear steps behind me, I know it is him – I can smell the scent of sweat, sex, dirt and sand. I never really knew what the scent was in Amorentia in our sixth year – I knew it was sun on something warm, and thought at first it was sun on grass, on a Quidditch pitch – I thought it was Ron. But smelling it on him now, I know it is sun on hot sand, and that smell is Bill and always has been. His arms are around my waist now, wandering lazily over my belly, hips and ribs, straying towards their prizes but never taking them.

                “In the moonlight – I came to think of moonlight as a curse, as something terrible. That nothing it touched could stay beautiful, nothing it touched could remain pure. But you should only be seen by moonlight. You look like a statue, like an angel of moonlight – it shows the silver in your eyes and catches the gold in your hair and turns your skin to alabaster. I am in thrall of you, lit here by moonlight, the first thing I have seen by moonlight I have not feared.”

                “We fear what we allow to scare us. You can live your life hiding from it, Bill, but light is something omnipotent. It is power and it will always find you. Run from it, or turn and embrace who you are in it. If I am an angel by moonlight, you are made in it. I will never run from it, rather stand and embrace it. If you want to keep me and keep your moonlit angel then you have to stand in it too.” He yanks me around to face him, his mouth descending onto my neck.

                “Temptress,” he sighs, kissing my throat. “Dreadful witch.”

                “Proud to be it,” I return, tipping my head back to the stars.

 

We stay there for a long time, long enough to forget that all too soon, I will have to face Salazar and give him an answer. But that is not tonight, tonight is for me, for Bill. There will be hours enough tomorrow to talk. There will be hours enough tomorrow for us to hold each other and for him to have to find the courage from somewhere to let me go.

 

I hate myself for making him need to.


	27. Chapter 27

BPOV

 

I wake up with a face full of caramel curls and a warm body pressed against my front. I bury my nose into the curls and inhale the scent of sand that clings and a smell of lemons from what I assume is her shampoo. I manage to drag my face out long enough to ascertain it was my guest rooms we came back to last night and this means that there will be no inopportune, irritating interruptions from my nosy sister to disturb us. Thrilled by this revelation, I snuggle back into Hermione, and feel her stir sleepily.

                “Bill?”

                “Who else were you expecting?” I tease gently.

                “Oh, any of my many, many lovers,” she says, rolling over to face me. “Urgh, we have morning breath.” She mutters a charm, wandlessly, and I feel like my teeth have been scrubbed over by sandpaper. “Sorry, it’s not pleasant at first,” she says, kissing me. “It fades.” I kiss her back, very enthusiastically. “What time is it?” I crane my neck to see the clock on the mantelpiece.

                “Ten.”

                “Oh, we missed breakfast. I am ravenous,” she murmurs. “Thank God McGonagall was nice enough to say today could be a holiday.”

                “Good thing you can just tap the table for food in the guest rooms. We could just get up and order breakfast.” She wriggles out of my arms and, gloriously naked, goes through to my living room. I hear her voice but can’t really make out the words. A few moments after she finishes talking, she sails back, carefully carrying a breakfast tray. “I could get used to this,” I observe.

                “Breakfast in bed?” she queries, setting the tray on the bedside table and handing me a coffee.

                “No – you walking around my bedroom naked, with the sunlight dancing in your hair and looking thoroughly fucked.”

                “Oh good, so your sister will know exactly what we did last night.”

                “Is that a bad thing?” I ask, cocking an eye at her as she drinks her tea.

                “No,” she says. “Until you realise that it means she will give me the Spanish Inquisition the first chance she gets.”

                “Even though I’m her brother?”

                “Especially because you’re her brother. Bacon sandwich?”

                “Goddess,” I say, accepting it. “I don’t get why she’d want to know about her brother having sex. I certainly don’t want to know about her.” Hermione takes a bite of her own sandwich before she answers.

                “Well, she won’t want all the gory details,” she says. “But she’ll want to know if I had a good time.”

                “And what will you tell her?”

                “I shall tell her,” she says, very primly, “that I had a most acceptable time.”

                “Acceptable?” I ask, removing both our cups to a safe distance. “Well, shall I see what I can do to upgrade that to enjoyable? Or perhaps even exceptional?” She gives me a beautiful laugh, which turns into a gasp as I run a hand up her thigh, before I duck beneath the covers.

                “Bill, what are you – _oh!”_ She ends on a gasp as I gently part her legs.

 

In the semi-twilight under the blankets, I use hands and mouth on her, teasing her gently. I take the time to get to know her body, what makes her moan and sigh, what makes her tense out of less pleasurable touches. I learn that when I touch her clit with the tip of my tongue, she mewls like a kitten; I find her g-spot and massage it firmly to elicit cries of my name. I keep going until she’s so wet it’s like touching molten gold, and she reaches down to push my head.

                “Bill,” she pants. “Stop.” I burrow up the blanket to come out facing her, and am pleased to note she looks hazy-eyed and sleepy with pleasure.

                “You look drunk,” I say, kissing her.

                “Drunk on pleasure,” she states lazily. “Give me five minutes to sober up, I’ll return the favour.”

 

She does too, very thoroughly. It’s two in the afternoon before we prise ourselves out of bed, and I only agree to getting up if we can shower together. When we’re dressing, she looks up at me.

                “Bill,” she says, very cautiously. “You remember what today is, don’t you?”

                “Why?” I ask, and then, as she bites her lip, I remember. Today is the first. Today is the day Salazar has to give her his reason. “Ah.”

                “I didn’t mean for it to play out like this. I – I’ll understand if you want to – to go.”

                “No,” I say, immediately reaching for her. She comes into my arms and rests her head on my chest. “No, I’ll stay until the end, Hermione. I don’t – I think I lo–“

                “No! Please don’t say it, please. Not now.” She looks up at me, an her eyes are shining with what can only be tears. “I’m sorry. I’m meeting him for dinner tonight. We’re going to talk. But nothing – nothing will happen tonight. Even if his reason is enough. I won’t touch him without talking to you about it first. And if – if I do, if I save him – I’ll understand if it breaks the deal for you.”

                “I can’t say it won’t, Hermione. I don’t know how I’ll feel unless it happens. But I will not abandon you and I am certain that if – if you save him, I will do everything to work through it. And it’ll be my issue, not yours.”

 

We don’t discuss it for the rest of the day. We spend it with Ginny and Harry, who tease us both relentlessly for disappearing and staying disappeared for most of the day. She laughs along with the jokes, but when six-thirty comes, she asks Ginny, with almost a haze of desperation, to come up to her room with her. Harry watches them out of sight, and then turns to me.

                “Slytherin?” he asks, softly. I nod. “How you doing with that?”

                “How would you be doing with it if Ginny was getting ready to have dinner with a man she may or may not be sleeping with in the very near future?” I snap. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have snapped.”

                “She’s having dinner with him?” Harry asks, frowning. “Alone?”

                “Yes, alone. She says nothing will happen tonight, no matter what he says.”

                “Don’t you believe her?” he asks, perfectly level.

                “I believe her. I trust her. It’s him I don’t trust –“

                "He can’t force her Bill, the prophecy was clear on that front – he has to have her consent.”

                “I think – somehow I think that’s worse. For me, anyway, not for her. She has to go into his bed willingly, and I have to watch her do it. I have to let her – I have to watch her go to him.”

                “Do you think she will?”

                “I don’t know. I don’t know. That’s the worst bit, that I don’t know, so I don’t even know if I have anything to be jealous about.”

                “She doesn’t have to shag him more than once, Bill. You’re a good looking bloke; you must have had your share of one night stands. Surely you know that sometimes, sex is just sex. If she does this, she does it once and then never again. It could be worse – she could need to do it once a month, or once a year even but she doesn’t.”

                “When did a nineteen year old get wiser than me?” He grins at me.

                “Eighteen,” he corrects. “I’m not nineteen ‘til July.”

                “Oh, well, that makes me feel a lot better, thank you.”

 

Hermione comes down the stairs in a pretty blue dress with a grey cardigan over it, suitable for roaming the castle with a November draught about the place.

                “Well then,” she says, with forced cheerfulness. “I’ll be off then, it’s nearly seven.”

                “Yes,” Harry says, getting up to hug her. “Would you like us to wait up for you?”

                “Please. I’d like that. And I won’t be late, it’s just dinner. We’re going to the Room of Requirement, so his note told me.” She turns to me. “I’m coming back,” she says, quietly. “And – and if you can, I’d like you to stay.”

                “I will, I’ll wait up with the others –“ she’s shaking her head before I can finish.

                “I mean stay all night,” she says.

                “I will,” I say, pulling her close. Ignoring a whistle from Ginny, I kiss her. “I’ll stay. Go. Before I give in to my inner caveman and tie you up somewhere.” She grins.

                “You can do that when I get back,” she says. “Test the four-poster’s sturdiness.”

                “OK,” Harry interrupts, “I don’t need to hear that sort of thing,” he says, shoving her gently towards the portrait hole. “Go on, get out.”

                “Going,” she says, winking at him. She doesn’t turn to look back, and I’m glad because I think if she gave me any sign that she doubted what she was doing, I’d drag her back in and go out there and hex him silly.

 

Over the course of the evening, Harry and Ginny do their best to distract me, but even Exploding Snap doesn’t stop all of us glancing at the portrait hole every time it swings open. AS the hours crawl by, I can’t help thinking about it, and eventually we all abandon Snap to pick up books we don’t read and pretend individually that we aren’t all thinking about what might be happening on the seventh floor in the hidden room opposite a tapestry.


	28. Chapter 28

SPOV

 

She is exactly on time, in a blue dress with a cardigan over it. It is modest, reaching her knees and completely covering her chest, leaving a couple of inches of clear skin below her collarbone. I don’t miss that she has avoided both green and red, and I wonder if it’s intentional.

                “Miss Granger,” I say, somewhat stiffly.

                “Sly – no. Salazar. If we are to make the fresh start we promised each other, I think we ought to use each other’s Christian names, don’t you?”

                “Yes, Hermione. I think that would be a good idea.”

 

We don’t talk on the way to the Room of Requirement, but as there are plenty of students about we get stared at plenty. She’s obviously boiling about it, but chooses not to say anything, instead just fixing her eyes dead ahead and practically marching down the corridors. She stops at the tapestry, and I see her relax as the corridor proves to be empty.

                “You want to do the honours?” she asks, tension palpable in her voice. I pace three times, and the door appears. “Did you – ask for no interruptions?” she asks.

                “I designed this room,” I say, finding a smile. “I know how it works.”

                “I should have guessed,” she murmurs, finding a rather faint smile of her own. “A hidden room that only appears in times of need – very Slytherin.” I step aside, and gesture.

                “After you, Hermione.” She seems to struggle with something, and I guess it fairly easily. She cannot hide her feelings – Gryffindor to the core. “I assure you it’s perfectly safe, Hermione. But, as extra precaution, I will enter first.” I open the door and step inside. She follows me, and looks around, and I hear the intake of breath in the silence.

                “This is – this is beautiful, Salazar.” She takes in the dark panelling, the open fireplace, the round table set for two with a candle beneath a red shade. The rest of the room is illuminated with wall-brackets holding torches, and a chandelier holding hundreds of candles. There are other tables scattered about, but none of their candles are lit. “Is this – based on somewhere you knew?”

                “When I was alive the first time, this was a restaurant in Hogsmeade. It was a very reputable establishment, specialising in fine dining and rare wines.”

                “It looks lovely.”

                “It was. I’m afraid I couldn’t reproduce the menu for you to look at – I had to order for you. I consulted with Severus Snape and he was able to help me to identify some foods you definitely would not eat. He was also able to reassure me that you were not a vegetarian and the matron here was able to tell me I should avoid celery as an ingredient.”

                “You did your research.”

                “I tried my best. And as you’re nineteen and of age, I have ordered us wines. Would you prefer red, or white?”

                “I prefer white,” she replies. “Red wine gives me a headache and I’d rather keep a clear head for tonight.”

                “Yes, of course.” I tap the table twice with my wand and a bottle of Riesling wine appears, with the red wine glasses being removed. I pour for her, and she picks up her glass. I admire the fact that she doesn’t just drink it in one, as I have to resist the urge to do. However, this would end only in disaster if we both got drunk. As tempting as it is, I sip it slowly, and she does the same. “Do you like it?” I ask tentatively. I’m desperate for this evening to go well.

                “It’s lovely, thank you. I’ve never had Riesling before.”

                “No? It’s a common wine –“

                “I believe it’s also a reasonably expensive wine, Salazar,” she says, gently. “Until very recently, money was not something I had a great deal of. My parents are dentists, not millionaires.”

                “Dentists?” I say, frowning. “What’s a dentist?”

                “A Muggle doctor who specialises in the care of teeth,” she replies. “In the Muggle world, we don’t have Healers who can just tend to everything. Doctors are divided into specialism’s and my parents were dentists who specialised in teeth.”

                “What sort of thing could they heal?” I ask.

                “ Well, they could tend to cavities, decay, discolouration and broken teeth.”

                “Broken _teeth_?” I say, running my tongue over mine instinctively.

                “Yes, if you chip them on anything hard, or in an accident for example. I had braces for a while.”

                “Braces?” I question, looking at her. She touches her mouth before she explains.

                “Yes, they’re a set of metal wires and they go round your teeth, held in place by brackets at the back. They force your teeth to straighten and go into line with each other.”

                “That is barbaric. Doesn’t that hurt?”

                “Well, a bit. When they first go on, and when they tighten them as the teeth start to move but it’s done as a gradual process.”

                “How do you eat with these – braces on?”

                “Well, you get used to it,” she says, clearly amused. “But I’m not going into detail, not at the dinner table.”

                “Speaking of dinner – would you like to start?”

                “Yes, that would be lovely.” I tap the table again, once this time, and plates appear. “What are we eating?” she asks, picking up the cutlery that came alongside it.

                “Chicken and asparagus tart to start with, then lamb casserole to follow.” I watch her anxiously as she takes a small bite. “If you don’t like it, I’m sure something else could be arranged.”

                “No, no, this is lovely,” she says quickly. We eat in silence, and by the end of the starter you could cut the atmosphere with a knife. She sighs, setting her knife and fork down. “Look, Salazar. This dinner won’t get us anywhere if we don’t actually talk to each other. To that end, why don’t we ask each other things? Things we’d like to know about each other? You could ask a question, and then I could ask a question. Keep things non-accusatory or there has to be a – a forfeit.”

                “A forfeit?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at her.

                “Yes – if we ask each other questions the recipient deems accusatory or inflammatory, the asker forfeits a question.”

                “I see. Yes, perhaps that would be a good start. Who should begin?”

                “Shall we perhaps refill our wine?” she asks, picking up the bottle. I nod, and she pours. “And that does not count as my first question.”

                “Oh, are you starting?”

                “Yes, any objections?”

                “Not at all. Shall we, however, ask for the casserole?”

                “Yes, I’m looking forward to it.” I tap, and the starter plates vanish, to be replaced by a basket of breads and two plates of gently steaming casserole served with baked potato, a more modern version of dauphinose that Severus talked me into, saying Hermione would probably prefer it.

                “This looks lovely – again. You’ve done well so far. Oh, it’s delicious I love it.”

                “I wish I could take the credit, but I am an abysmal cook, I’m afraid. I was rather too used to being waited on, as opposed to doing the waiting. Can you cook?”

                “You took my question,” she scolds gently. “But I’ll answer it anyway. Yes, I can cook. Not gourmet or anything too complex or too fancy, but I can put together a meal.”

                “What’s your –“

                “Oh no you don’t,” she says quickly. “Now, it’s my turn. Where were you born?” That wasn’t what I was expecting.

                “I was born in London. Not the London you will have known, but what was then London. I wonder if it’s changed, what’s there now.”

                “I was born in London too – what’s London now, anyway.”

                “That would have been my question. What did you do, before Hogwarts?”

                “I went to a Muggle primary school. I liked it there, but I never really fitted in. I did – strange things, and even then I loved to learn and read.” She sighs, very quietly, and takes a bite of her meal before she speaks again. “I miss it sometimes. Things were simpler. When you were alive before, what did you teach here?”

                “I taught Potions and History of Magic. I like to think I made it more interesting than the ghost who teaches it now. What’s the story with that, just out of interest?”

                “Apparently he sat down in the staffroom one night and fell asleep in his chair. When the next morning rolled around, his ghost got up but his body didn’t. And he just – carried on teaching. It’s a shame, he’s been here a hundred years now. He knows his subject, there’s no denying that but he does not have the – the gift of teaching. Perhaps he did when he was alive but – anyway. It isn’t my place to speak ill of a teacher.” She flashes me a smile. “I’ll be generous, and say that doesn’t count as your question. You can ask me another.”

                “Thank you,” I say, raising my wine glass in mock salute. “Have you ever travelled?”

                “Some,” she replies, and a sadness crosses her face. “I have been to a few places with my parents – the south of France, skiing in Norway. Then when – last year, when I was on the run from Voldemort, Harry, Ron and I went almost all round Britain. The Forest of Dean, Cornwall, places I didn’t even know the names of. Then I went to Australia last summer, to find my parents.”

                “Find your –“

                “My turn,” she interrupts, putting down her knife and fork, her dinner finished. “Who did you get on best with, before? Of the Founders, I mean?” I take the last bite of my own meal and place my cutlery aside neatly.

                “Before I left the castle, before we fell out, probably Godric,” I say. “We were very alike in many respects – we both sought power, we both respected power, we both enjoyed the pursuit of new learning. We would spend many nights arguing theory and history, talking long into the night every time. But then we fought over other ideas, and I left in a rage. By the time I died, the only one I remained in contact with was Helga. She forgave where the others did not; she reached out even in the final days of my life, begging me to make peace with Godric and Rowena. My pride stood in the way and I refused. But even though I rebuffed her, she came at the end - when my interfering son wrote to her and told her I was dying. She was none too well herself, but she came to where I was living in the south of England. And she was there when I died. When you raised me, one of the first things I did was establish what happened to Helga. Apparently it was her who insisted I be buried here, against Godric’s disapproval.”

                “They told us in History of Magic that Helga died not long after you.”

                “Yes, I found that. Poor lady – she saw good in me when I was too stubborn to see it myself.” There is a vaguely awkward silence. “Shall we have dessert? More wine?”

                “Yes to both, I think. What is dessert?”

                “Poached pears,” I reply, as it appears before us. “See if you guess what the syrup is,” I suggest, topping up her glass before my own. She takes a small forkful.

                “Honey,” she says, instantly. “And certainly some cinnamon – and possibly – clove?”

                “Ginger,” I correct, smiling. “You got the others.”

                “It’s very good.”

                “Why did you have to go to Australia, after the war? To find your parents?” She sighs. “You don’t have to answer.”

                “No, it’s fine. Before Harry, Ron and I went off to find Horcruxes, I knew I would make them targets by disappearing. One of the new measures the Dark set up was to insist children attended Hogwarts, but they first had to prove they had at least one close Wizarding relative. I couldn’t – obviously. I knew that by being both Muggleborn and Harry Potter’s best friend would make them first on the Death Eaters list. So I modified their memories so they thought they were totally different people who didn’t have a daughter, and sent them off to Australia. Once the War was over, I tracked them down and reversed the charms. They think they just had a two week holiday, and that I’m only eighteen.”

                “You – you managed to reverse a Memory Modification Charm and implant completely false memories, without damaging either mind?”

                “I’m very clever,” she says, lightly. She sets aside her fork, and I realise that we’ve both finished and neither of us can continue this.

                “I’m ready,” I say, abruptly. “I’m ready to give you my reason.” Her face shutters at once, where just moments before it was alight with emotion.

                “Nothing will be done tonight,” she says, softly. “I – Bill and I –“

                “You don’t need to explain to me,” I say. “But I’m ready to give you my reason nonetheless – and ready to tell you what I’ll do with my life.” She nods, and her hand reaches out to clutch her wine glass. A couple of weeks ago, I probably would have shielded my head to prevent her smashing it in my face. “I – when I first met you, I resented you fiercely. I truly believed that you had no right to be here. I believed that you were an aberration, something to be studied – not someone who would study. But since the Duel, I have come to realise that you are phenomenal. You have borne intolerable burdens with bravery and with hope which is something to be admired in itself. You’ve fought my ideals with only one thought in mind: to change the world. You are clever and powerful and yet you have done what I always failed to do – resisted the temptation of selfish improvement. I sit before you and I know I am in the company of a witch who could have met me as an equal if I had known nothing about you. And I realised that the only reason that I disliked you was your blood and that is the same as disliking a snake for having scales. You can no more help your blood than I can help not liking parsnips. There is no reason to deny someone an education for their blood. And I truly, truly believe that had you been alive when I was alive, you would have changed my mind then too.” She is staring at me.

                “And – and what will you do with your life, if I save it?” she whispers, her face tight and pale in the candlelight.

                “I want to travel. I want to see the world and the great libraries. I want to visit the other Wizarding schools I find exist now, and see how the world around me has changed. I want to pursue knowledge as Godric and I once did, late at night with the fire dancing beside me and a book to hand. I would love to spend some time with you, learning from you and perhaps offering you some of my knowledge in exchange. I am prepared to offer you assurance that I would not use travel to recruit. I would take whatever you wanted – Veritaserum, an Unbreakable Vow, or a Wizard’s Oath. Anything, if it would set your mind at ease, Hermione.”

 

There is an achingly long silence between us, and she stares into my eyes. I feel, I hope, that she can see the truth in them, that I mean it all – that I have come to respect her as I have rarely respected anyone. Suddenly, she stands, there is no warning.

                “I will come to you tomorrow,” she says, very quietly. “I will come to your rooms, at seven tomorrow evening. Whatever my answer is, Salazar, I will give it to you face to face.”

                “I would understand, if the answer was no – I would understand if you owled me.” But she’s shaking her head.

                “I’m not a coward, Salazar. I won’t do it that way. I’ll give you my answer in person, with my reasons for making it. Thank you for tonight. It was – wonderful.”

 

And she’s gone, the door swinging closed behind her, leaving me to stare after her and reflect: tomorrow, I will either be packing my bags to travel, or facing my final two days alive.


	29. Chapter 29

HPOV

 

I go back alone and unlike my walk to the Room, the corridors are empty now. I cast a Tempus charm, and find that the time is nine o’clock. Right on curfew. I hurry my steps, and find myself outside the Fat Lady before I even notice. I give the password and stumble inside, desperate to find Bill and reach the safe certainty of his arms. The common room is empty, silent in a way it shouldn’t be so early and I wonder if Ginny played on being Head Girl and forced them all to go to bed early. I run up the stairs to my tower room and find Bill staring out of the window. I gasp out his name, breathless with effort, and he doesn’t let me down. He walks towards me even as I go to him and we collide in the middle. He pulls me into his arms and he doesn’t ask me questions, he doesn’t say anything except my name.

 

He undresses me, he touches every inch of me, and by the time I’m naked I’m desperate for him. He urges me onto my knees on my bed and he fits himself against me, snarls occasionally breaking through his control as the full moon shines through my window like a sword threatening us both. But it isn’t enough. He’s holding back.

                “Let go, Bill,” I say, as clearly as I can. “You can lose control with me.”

                “Hermione,” he grinds out, “I –“

                “Tell me,” I gasp, pushing back against him as he thrusts raggedly. “Tell me what – oh _God_ – tell me what you need.” He doesn’t speak, but his hands go to my shoulders and he pushes my torso down, so I’m rubbing against my sheets with my arse in the air. He pulls out and I whimper at the loss but no, he’s not stopping, he’s pushing my legs together and now he’s back inside me and I groan. It’s different like this, I feel so much tighter, I feel him so much more, I feel every single inch of him and I feel so full, fuller than before. He speaks, his voice is rough and I shudder at the sound as it caresses my flesh.

                “Can I – can I – spank.” The word is disconnected and I feel – my God I feel myself twitch at it, at the promise, at the mere prospect.

                “Yes!” I cry out, half-consent, half-pleasure and his hand strokes me and then it strikes. I give a cry and push back. He does it again and I feel the heat spread and I feel – dear god I feel myself get wetter and I hear the sounds as he fucks into me. His hand fists in my hair, leaving my arse and I mewl desperately, because I am right there, I am right on the fucking edge and I am about to come harder than I have ever come before and I need him to touch me. Perhaps I put all that into words because I hear his growl, before his teeth sink into my shoulder and he manages to get a hand between my thighs and he fumbles  -

My world explodes. I scream, it curls up from my belly as my orgasm sweeps over me and I’d collapse helplessly if he wasn’t fucking me through it, merciless and never letting up even for a moment, holding my hips up and continuing to pound into me, grunting as I tighten round him before he drags me back into him and carries on, burying himself deep as he growls and snarls as he comes too.

 

We go down together and he’s slipped out but hasn’t left me. His chest is pressed to my back and I can feel the heat of his breath on my neck, blowing soothingly over the bite on my shoulder. He rolls to get his weight off me but this time he doesn’t let me move, he takes e with him, fitting himself behind me. His arm wraps around my waist, pulls me into him. I feel the sweat drying on us, and I feel his come start to trickle down my thigh a little. It’s dirty, it’s visceral, and it’s real. I don’t want to move. I want to stay here forever, locked into his arms where nothing else matters. In the protecting circle of his arms I am not Hermione Granger, subject of prophecy. I am not the Golden Girl, saviour of the Wizarding World. I am not a third of the Golden Trio, destroyer of Horcruxes. I’m just his; I’m just Hermione, boneless with pleasure and warm against his chest.

 

We fall asleep like that, then wake at midnight sticky with sweat. I have a god awful crick in my neck and from the way Bill groans as he extracts his arm from under me it’s completely dead. He suggests we use Charms but I shake my head.

                “Shower,” I say. “You can go first, I want to brush my hair out first.” H does, then I slip in, letting the hot water unknot my neck.

 

By the time we’re both back in bed, neither of us can sleep. So he asks instead. He asks me the question I don’t want to answer.

                “How did it go?”

                “Well, we managed not to challenge each other to a duel. We managed not to argue, even. He was – polite. Interested. Interesting. We talked.”

                “And he was nice to you?”

                “Yes. We were nice to each other, and I – I still don’t know what to do. He told me he wanted to travel and he swore he wouldn’t resurrect the old Blood Purity shit. He promised me that he’d do whatever it took to convince me – even offered an Unbreakable Vow.”

                “He offered you an Unbreakable Vow?”

                “Yes, among other things. He said he wanted to travel around and see the schools; he wanted to visit the great libraries again and pursue the new knowledge. And I believe him. To offer me an Unbreakable Vow, he must be serious.”

                “Or – I have to say it, Hermione,” he says, tightening his grip on me in the dark. “He might be offering it to you on the gamble that you’re too honest to take him up on it. On the gamble that you’ll refuse the Vow and trust his word – leaving him free to do whatever he likes.”

                “You think he’ll gamble on me being too much of a Gryffindor.”

                “Essentially, yes.”

                “He’s wrong,” I say, softly. “I’ll have him take that Vow.” He goes so silent I can’t even hear him breathe.

                “You’re going to do it?”

                “The decision isn’t final,” I say, tracing patterns on his bare chest. “I’m going to him tomorrow night, at seven. Or tonight, as it’s after midnight now.” Even though it breaks my heart, I say the next words. “You can walk away,” I whisper. “If you want to walk away from this, and from me, I will never judge you for it. I will never hold it against you.”

                “God Granger, will you pack this shit in!” he snaps. He extracts his arm from me; he swings himself out of bed and crosses to the window. “I’m not bloody going anywhere! You keep – you go around like you have an arm up against your head expecting me to hurt you. You keep on and on trying to keep me at arm’s length like you can’t even see that _I love you._ Like it isn’t obvious that if I didn’t want to be involved I would have walked away long ago? If I didn’t want to support you, if I didn’t need the drama, can’t you see that I would never have kissed you by the lake the day he challenged you to that duel. I would never have had you by the lake on Halloween. And I – Hermione,” he says, coming back to the bed and falling to his knees beside it, reaching for my hands. “I have never shown anyone what I showed you tonight. I have never let go in front of anyone except Charlie. You are one of two people in the _entire Wizarding world_ who has seen me on the night of the full moon. Not even Fleur saw me on the full moon. I’m not going anywhere.”

                “But – you love me?” I say, staring at him.

                “Yes, I love you. Merlin, Granger, you can be pretty fucking dense for the brightest witch in a generation. I don’t like the idea of you having sex with him, nobody would. But if it is your decision and it is what you believe is the right thing to do, I will stand by you. I will be here when you have done whatever you deem to be the right thing.”

                “I don’t deserve you,” I mutter, pressing my hand to his face, feeling stubble scratch my hand.

                “Yes you do,” he answers, pressing his lips to my palm. “You’re just too boneheaded to accept it. You think you’re a monster because of the war but you aren’t. You’re just a woman who has had to do terrible things. They don’t make you terrible. I wish I could make you see it.”

                “Maybe if you say it again,” I whisper. “And again, and again, and every day for the rest of both our lives, I’ll see it.”

                “The rest of our lives?”

                “Yes,” I confirm, smiling. “If you want.”

                “Oh I want,” he promises. “I want alright.”


	30. Chapter 30

HPOV  
  
I have to leave him, I have to go into classes. Snape and McGonagall both take me today but only Snape attempts conversation with me about Salazar, pulling me aside as I’m trying to leave Potions.

                “Miss Granger? How did your dinner with Salazar go yesterday night?”

                “Do we need to discuss it?”

                “No, I suppose not, I merely –“

                “Then ask Salazar,” I snap. “May I go? I have Transfiguration now.” He sighs but nods, and I go outside, to find Ginny lingering around the corner.

                “We’ll be late,” she says philosophically.

                “You didn’t have to wait,” I retort, swinging into step beside her anyway as we climb to the Entrance Hall.

                “Was he digging for information?”

                “Wanted to know how last night went?”

                “How _did_ it go?” she asks gently. “I tried asking Bill while you were in Ancient Runes but he either didn’t know or wouldn’t say – just shrugged and started wittering on about Quidditch.”

                “It was fine. We talked and we didn’t fight and we didn’t challenge each other to any duels.” She nods.

                “That’s progress I suppose.” She’s obviously absolutely burning to keep going, but Transfiguration saves me from her questioning. Learning from what happened with Snape, I’m out the door as soon as she dismisses us and long gone before Ginny can catch me. Ancient Runes at least doesn’t involve anyone interested enough to drill me about it. I enjoy the hour, but when the bell rings, I’m forced to realise that it’s lunchtime and there’s nothing left to distract me.

 

I join Ginny in the Great Hall, and she lets me stare at an empty plate for half an hour before she leans over.

                “You have to eat, Hermione,” she murmurs. “What would you like? Hot or cold?”

                “Cold,” I mutter. Hot food wouldn’t sit well. I can’t face picking apart a plate of casserole or pie right now. She pushes a dish of sandwiches towards me, and I pull out the closest two without even looking at them. I’ve eaten half of the first one before it registers as being egg mayonnaise. Ginny puts a couple of slices of cold ham onto my plate and insists I take a muffin too.

                “You ate nothing at breakfast, Hermione; don’t think I didn’t notice you pushing porridge around while slowly crumbling up slices of toast. You have to eat or you’ll be ill.” I eat the food she puts in front of me and even voluntarily reach for a second muffin. Now she’s mentioned it, I am hungry, ravenous in fact. She nods approvingly. “Better?” I nod, swallowing my last bite.

                “Yes thank you.”

                “You done for the day?”

                “In terms of lessons, yes. I still have homework.”

                “Any of it due imminently?”

                “No, I’ve got nothing that’s not due until next week.”

                “Good. So, let’s talk.”

                “Not here,” I hiss. “People will hear.”

                “It might have escaped your notice, Hermione, but there are about five people left in this Hall, including us.” I look around and see that she’s right, that whilst I ate, the Hall has emptied out. The bell rings then, and the last few people get up to leave. “We’ll have to go too; the elves will want to clear. Have you got your cloak? We’ll go into the grounds.” We wrap up well – October ended fairly well, but November has come in with a serious bite behind it. She links her arm through mine.

                “It’s tonight, Ginny,” I say. “I’m giving him an answer tonight.”

                “That’s why Bill wouldn’t tell me,” she says. “What’s going to happen?”

                “I don’t know,” I say miserably. “I have –“ I check my watch, “five and a half hours. I said I would go to his rooms at seven tonight and no matter what my answer was he’d have it.” I stop her, and turn us to walk closer to the Forest.

                “What would help you decide?”

                “Bill not being here? Knowing he’s here makes me want to run into his arms and stay there, just because I know I can. If he wasn’t here I couldn’t do it, but I want him to stay because I’m selfish and I want to know I have that possibility. But how can I ask him to stay here tonight, knowing what I might have to do?”

                “I can tell him –“

                “No, Ginny. I appreciate it but I made you tell Molly about all this. I can’t flunk out of another thing.”

                “You didn’t _make_ me tell Mum,” she points out, slightly irritable. “I offered and you accepted, you didn’t make me do anything. If I didn’t want to do it, you know good and well I wouldn’t have offered in the first place.” She stops and continues, gentler now. “If you needed him to step back, he would. Hell, Hermione – if you asked him to kiss your feet he would.”

                “Are you trying to tell me in a roundabout way that your brother gets off on feet?”

                “Ew, no, that’d be grim if I knew that information – I have no idea what gets him off. I’m just trying to demonstrate that he’d do anything you asked him to. Look, the point is that if you need him to go back to the Burrow tonight, tell him so! I won’t tell you he’d be thrilled to do it, but he will. And maybe doing it sooner rather than later? So you can think only about Slytherin?”

                “It’ll hurt him badly –“ I begin, and stop when she jabs me sharply in the side. “That hurt,” I complain.

                “It was meant to. It will upset him, of course it will. But you need to do it, so do it. Now, does that jab still hurt?”

                “Well, no –“

                “Exactly. And it’ll stop hurting Bill too. If he wasn’t a decent man, yes, he’d hold it against you but he won’t because he isn’t a monumental cock.”

                “Fair enough. OK. I’ll go and find him.”

 

So I do, and find him in his rooms with Harry.

                “Harry,” I say, looking directly at him. “You know I love you, but I kind of need you to go away.”

                “Right,” he says, standing up. “Bill I’ll see you later, right? And we’ll go over the deeds then.” I see the parchment on the table too late.

                “If you were busy, I can –“

                “No, no, it was just stuff about selling Grimmauld Place on. It’ll keep,” Harry says, walking to the door. “Play safely together now.” He’s gone before either of us can pull him up on it.

                “Hi,” Bill says, grinning at me. He comes over, he opens his arms, but I have to step back, and steel myself against the flash of confusion on his face. “What’s wrong?”

                “I – I’m sorry Bill but I need you to – to go.”

                “Go?” he asks, baffled. “Go where? You need something from the village? The Burrow? I could pop out and be back in an hour –“

                “No, I don’t mean that. I mean I need you to leave the castle. Leave Hogwarts, at least for the night.”

                “I don’t understand, you need me to be here –“

                “No, having you here is a problem right now Bill. Because as you’re here, knowing you’re here means that every three seconds I think about rushing to you and begging you to keep me away from everything. Knowing that I can means I constantly want to, I don’t want to give Salazar any answer, I just want you. And because I do, I have to ask you to go. I need you to not be in this castle tonight.”

                “You’re going to say yes, aren’t you?”

                “I don’t know!” I cry, throwing up my hands and going over to his window. “I don’t know because I can’t think, I can’t focus and I can’t even _begin_ to contemplate this hell because I can’t think of anything but you being here. I can’t think of anything but you and knowing that if I lost my nerve and came to you tonight you would wrap me up and hold me and not blame me for being too much a coward to actually face Salazar. And if – if I do say yes to Salazar, I don’t want you anywhere near me for it because Christ knows I couldn’t look you in the face after. Please Bill.” He grips his table in his hands and looks for a moment as if he might throw it.

                “OK,” he says, breathing hard through his nose. “Let me try and get this straight. You want me to go. You want me to leave you here alone, with Salazar Slytherin and just go merrily home to my mother and stay there tonight _knowing_ what you’re doing. Is that correct?”

                “Yes, that is correct.”

                “Good God, Granger.”

                “Look, Bill, you know me – and if you don’t, go and ask Harry – if this wasn’t what I needed, I wouldn’t ask for it.”

                “Fine. If you want me to go, I’ll go. When will you want me to come back, your Highness? As apparently you’re the only one who gets a say in where I go and what I do?”

                “Bill!” I cry. “That’s not what – that’s not – I didn’t mean –“

                “Well what did you mean?” he shouts. “Did you expect me to just say OK and go off happily?”

                “I _hoped_ you’d understand –“

                “Well, I don’t. I don’t bloody well understand and I’m not bloody happy about it and I don’t see why you don’t get that this is bloody hurtful!”

                “I didn’t want to hurt you, you know!” I shout back. “I _love_ you for God’s sake! I’m trying to do the best thing I can! I didn’t think you’d want to stay, and I don’t – I can’t know you’re within distance tonight.”

                “I get it,” he snaps. “Always so self-sacrificing and so _good_. Tell me, Granger, did you actually even enjoy fucking me? Or did you just do it because you knew I needed it a certain way?” I stare at him, horrified.

                “I can’t believe you’d say that,” I whisper. “Just – just _go,_ if you feel like that about it. And don’t bother coming back if you honestly think for even a second that what we had weren’t the best times of my entire life.”

                “Trust me Granger, I’m gone,” he snaps.

 

And he goes, leaving me to stare into the empty fireplace and wonder what the fuck just happened.


	31. Chapter 31

HPOV

 

                “Well thank you very much, Ginny,” I snap, striding towards her and Harry. “That was brilliant advice.”

                “What?” she asks, standing up. “What are you talking about?”  

                “Telling Bill that it would be helpful if he left. Well he left alright, and he probably isn’t coming back!”

                “Whoa, whoa – what the hell’s going on?” Harry asks, taking my hands and pulling me onto the sofa next to him. Ginny sits on the other side of me.

                “I wanted to tell Bill that I couldn’t have him here tonight, that it would be easier for me if I could go to Salazar without him being in the castle because it wouldn’t be good if I do save him, Salazar I mean, while knowing Bill was there and Ginny said I should go for it.”            

                “OK. I think I got most of that,” Harry says lightly. “And Bill – fairly understandably – didn’t take this well?”

                “He – he did not.”

                “Well what did he say?” Ginny asks. “It can’t be that bad.”

                “It’s pretty fucking bad,” I snap. “He said that he didn’t understand why I was doing it and that – well he got pretty personal and I’m not repeating it. And he said that as I was the only one who got to tell him what to do and called me Your Highness and – fuck it, as he apparently thinks it. He asked me if I only fucked him the – the way we did because I was being self-sacrificing.”   

                “He what?” Harry shouts.

                “Leave it,” I say, standing up. “Just leave it. I’m not wasting my bloody time if that’s what he thinks. I’m going to my room. Please leave me alone for this.”

 

They do. I can only assume Ginny Disarmed Harry by force and tied him to  a chair to stop him, but they leave me alone. The hours tick by. I stare out of the window and watch the sun get lower and lower, and find to my utter despair that it’s still only five pm. It’s time for dinner but I can’t go down. I send Ginny a Patronus to tell her. She doesn’t answer it, so to be safe I send one to Snape too, who does acknowledge it and thanks me for letting them know I haven’t done a bunk again. I’m considering it. I could run off I suppose, stay away. They’d only have to not find me for two days and then it’d all be over.

 

Then all I’d have to do would be to feel crap for the rest of my life.

 

Five-thirty ticks by. I still don’t know what to do.

 

By six, my fingers are ragged and bleeding around my nails where I’ve bitten them raw. Still I cannot think. The book with the Prophecy in it stares almost mockingly at me. Gryffindor or not, brave or not, good or not. But has it ever been that simple? Didn’t Sirius say – the world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters. The world isn’t good or evil. The world is grey, not black and white. If my decision is Salazar’s death, would that make me evil? Would saving him make me good? Does pushing Bill away now make me bad? Would saying he could stay despite my fear make me better? Of course not. Nothing is that simple.

 

I have sense enough to know that for the people who matter, my decision tonight will not change who I am. Perhaps it wouldn’t change me in the eyes of the Wizarding public either; perhaps none of them will care in five years. But it would affect me. It would change the woman I saw in the mirror. I would either have to look at the girl who was unfaithful but unselfish or the woman responsible for an entirely preventable death. Which can I bear, for the next ninety years? Which can I tolerate seeing every day?

 

Or, in five years, would it stop mattering to me too? Would I, like everyone else, simply forget with the passage of time? Would it stop being relevant in years to come, if I was happy and settled with a career and a home – perhaps even a family. Perhaps it would.

 

If the Wizarding World was bothered by whatever decision I come to, then I’m under no obligation to hang around. I got Muggle qualifications too, over the summers I was away from Hogwarts, I could quite easily use them to get into a Muggle University and get a Muggle job. I could leave it behind me completely; I could just leave after it’s done with. Nothing would stop me seeing those people who matter after all, whichever world I chose. I could stay wherever I wanted and do whatever I wanted. I’m a grown woman. My choices are my own, after all.

 

It’s six thirty. Half an hour to go. I get up decisively. Yes. Ultimately it’s my choice and none of anyone else’s business. I made a mistake to involve Bill. I should have kept him at arm’s length until it was over and done with. He had no right to say to me what he said, but I had no right to let it get to this point. I knew on Halloween that sex would change the dynamic. I could have left it, kept our conversation neutral, but I went ahead and did it anyway.

 

Quarter to seven. The clock in the tower chimes it away, one two three chimes. There is no more time. I go downstairs, and there’s no sign of either Ginny or Harry. Outside the portrait hole floats the ominous figure of the Bloody Baron.

                “Baron?” I query, stopping. I can’t remember ever seeing him near this common room. He spends most of his time clunking around the dungeons.

                “Miss Granger. I hope you do not take my words as an offence, but Salazar told me of tonight and what it meant. I am here as an envoy from the ghosts. No matter what should transpire tonight, no blame lies upon you. You would have our protection, should others take umbrage.”

                “Thank you Baron,” I say, quietly.

                “I know that he has failed to make a good impression,” he continues. “I know that he has been despicably rude to you. But I also know that he respects you now, and that it is your nature and your kindness that has altered him so drastically. In life, he and I were friends, and I felt I ought to tell you that in his younger days, he was not the blood fanatic you would have learnt of. I don’t know what altered him but I apologise deeply for the suffering he has caused you.”

                “It isn’t your place to apologise, Baron. I didn’t know you were friends but – thank you for coming tonight, and for saying it. I’m sorry – I have to go. It’s getting late.”

                “Of course,” he says, nodding. “I understand.” He floats away through the closest wall that won’t lead him into the Gryffindor common room.

 

The conversation makes me late, and seven has already chimed by the time I knock at the door leading to Salazar’s quarters. He opens it immediately and I can tell he’s been pacing.

                “I’m sorry to be late,” I say. “I saw the Bloody Baron and spoke with him for a time. May I come in?”

                “Oh yes, of course, sorry. It isn’t a problem that you’re late, that’s fine. Please come in.” I enter, and look around. Thank God it looks nothing like the room Bill was staying in. I cross to the low sofa and sit down, and he follows to hover awkwardly and look half-anxious, half-afraid.

                “I mentioned that I’d seen and spoken with the Baron on my way down here, didn’t I? He said something – interesting to me. So I have one last question for you.”

                “Anything,” he says immediately, sitting down himself now. I take a deep, steadying breath.

                “He said that when he knew you in your original younger days, you weren’t so – blood purist, that you became so as you aged. I want to know what caused the shift.”

                “There was no one event – I wasn’t jilted by a Muggleborn or betrayed personally by one or even really directly affected by one. After Godric and I had travelled together for some time, in our middle age, we found that the Muggleborn population of wizards tended to be more reckless with their magic, less responsible while at the same time being less powerful. I felt that if they could not be trusted with magic, they shouldn’t be taught it. I saw what they used their magic for to be – somewhat petty. I was wrong, and I acknowledge it now. Looking back, I know it is no real reason.” I nod, slowly.

                “I see. I think it was wrong of you to make such a decision based on the limited information you had, but I see why you reached the conclusion you did.”

                “Thank you. I don’t deserve that understanding, but thank you for it nonetheless.” He waits, and I can see the anticipation.

                “You offered me an Unbreakable Vow,” I say, conversationally. “Last night, at dinner – you said that if I needed the reassurance you wouldn’t go on a recruitment drive you’d make an Unbreakable Vow. Bill suggested that you offered it on the gamble that I was too much a Gryffindor to take such an offer.”

                “That isn’t true,” he states, looking directly at me. “I’ll take it, I’ll let you state the terms of it, I’ll do it if you need it.”

                “I don’t need it. Nor do I want it. I’ve killed people, Salazar; you know what I can do. You saw my memories during that duel; you know what I did to my parents to save them.”

                “I do,” he says cautiously, still looking at me.

                “If you betray the confidence I give you now, what I will do to you will make Crucio look like being caressed by a lover. I would hunt you down and I’d fucking _eviscerate_ you, Salazar.”

                “I understand – wait. Does this mean –?” He leaves the question unfinished, the hope dawning in his eyes.

                “I’ll do it. I’ll save you. I’ll go to bed with you tonight and do it freely and willingly – with some rules.”

                “Whatever you need,” he says at once.

                “You promise me that a lot,” I remark. “One day I’ll call in these favours. No kissing – this isn’t love so don’t kiss me. Don’t try to or we’ll finish the job with you tied to the bed-frame with your lips sealed shut. I’d like to try and keep – foreplay to what minimum is required to complete coitus. Is this acceptable to you?”

                “Yes, it is acceptable.”

                “And one final thing – make the most of your life, Salazar. Make the most of your second shot at living.”

                “I will. Of course I will.”

                “And – before you go off to do whatever it is you’ll do, will you say goodbye?”

                “Yes.”

                “Well then, let’s go. Let’s do it,” I say, standing up and extending my hand to him. He takes it, and he leads me to his bedroom. I even manage not to hesitate on the threshold as I think of Bill.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry, I am so sorry, I am a terrible person. 
> 
> I have a little daughter who is VERY time-consuming and finding time to write is not easy to come by. Anyway, here it is. The good news is, we're three chapters from the end! 
> 
> I'll do them as soon as I can but in the meantime, can I have kudos and perhaps even some comments?

Harry POV

 

Ginny and I sit in stunned silence as Hermione leaves. I get up, intend to follow her, but Ginny yanks me back. She stands herself, and her eyes are blazing.

                “We have other people to see tonight,” she hisses. “We’re going to the Burrow.”

                “But you need permission –“

                “To hell with that!” she explodes, seeming to crackle with energy. “I’m going to _kill_ him!”

 

I follow her, mostly to prevent damage being done. She uses the one-eyed witch, gets us beyond the Hogwarts boundary and Apparates. I have to follow that too as she doesn’t bother to offer to Side-Along. I overshoot in my irritation and end up at the far end of the garden. Muttering curses, I hurry to the house on foot, and the closer I get, the clearer the furious voice of Ginny becomes.

                “- say those things to her? Where the hell do you get off? You’re better than this; I literally cannot believe that you could be so hurtful to her!”

                “Don’t you lecture me!”

                “Both of you stop this shouting!” orders a strident voice. I burst through the kitchen door to find Molly grabbing both Ginny and Bill by the scruff of the neck and forcing them both into chairs. I hold my hands up as she turns on me rather ferociously.

                “I tried to stop her,” I protest. Ginny shoots a spine-shrivelling glare at me and I have to remind myself that I am the wielder of the Elder Wand, Defeater of the Dark Lord in order to not flee in outright terror. Molly takes a seat between her children and I sit opposite Bill, in order to stay as far away from Ginny as possible.

                “Now, explain. Ginevra?”

                “He can explain. He started this.”

                “Very well. William?”

                “Hermione and I have had an argument, which Ginny appears to believe is her business.”

                “It _is_ my business when it’s my best bloody friend you’re accusing of being a cunt!”

                “Ginevra!” Molly bellows. “If I hear that word from you again I will wash your mouth out with soap, do you hear me?”

                “I never said that to her,” Bill hisses, ignoring his mother. “She was the one who told me to just leave whilst she shags Salazar bloody Slytherin.”               

                “Didn’t you think to wonder that she did it because she was desperately trying to make everyone happy? And as per, everyone but herself?”

                “May I interject?” I ask, quietly.

                “Please do, Harry, as I appear to be missing some vital information here,” Molly invites.

                “Hermione asked you to go because she couldn’t bear it anymore,” I say. “Hermione protects the people she loves. Now, not being party to the exact conversation, I cannot comment on who said what. Maybe she put it poorly, or didn’t manage to quite explain properly. But she would never have asked you to go unless she honestly believed it was what she needed. Hermione has, for once, put herself first. She’s my best friend. Hell, she’s my sister. I’m not going to qualify that – she is my sister now. I love her more than I have ever loved anyone, with Ginny being the sole exception. She sent her parents to the other side of the world to keep them safe, she made them forget her. How much pain do you think that cost her? Bill, do you know what she said to me, during the Final Battle? Right before I went to Voldemort?”

                “No,” Bill mutters, staring at the table.

                “She offered to come with me.” His head snaps up, and his brown eyes go so wide I can see the whites around them.

                “She what?”

                “She offered to go with me. She would have died for me. She would have followed me to certain death and believe me, Bill, they would have murdered her on sight. And she did it because she knew, she knew I’d done everything alone and couldn’t bear the idea that I was going to die in front of him with nobody there with me. Do not ever accuse Hermione of not caring. Do not ever imply that she would ever do anything at all to hurt people. She was tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange because she came with me to do the job. That’s my cross to bear, and it always will be. She did what she did because she needed it, and she did what she did because she didn’t want you to see her cry.”

                “Cry?”

                “She’ll cry over this. Whatever she chooses, she will cry. If she saves him, she’ll cry for you because she knows it’ll hurt you. And if she doesn’t save him, she’ll cry because she knows she’s condemned a man to death.” There is a long silence. Bill is flushed, angry still but shame is mixed in with it now.

                “I’m sorry. I reacted badly.”

                “Yes you did,” I reply. “Now, I’m going back to Hogwarts. When she comes out from doing whatever it might be she has to do, she may need someone. And if she needs that, at least there will be someone there. Do what has to be done here, Ginny, then I’ll expect you back. And if I can, I’ll cover for you too.”

 

I’m only partly successful when I return to Hogwarts. I distract McGonagall from questioning why we didn’t come to dinner by stating that I ate privately with Ginny, then engaging her in an energetic discussion about Quidditch and Gryffindors’ chances this season. But Snape _knows_. I felt the brush of his mind against mine, and didn’t bother blocking him. It was his eternal irritation to find that with Voldemort’s soul exorcised from mine, I’d picked up Occlumency in a snap. He doesn’t rat me out at least.

 

When the clock chimes seven, I take my leave from McGonagall’s office. Snape is waiting outside my rooms, and I let him in without speaking. I tap the table; turn back to him holding two glasses of Firewhiskey. He accepts it and we drink in silence.

                “You know where she is?”

                “Thanks to your mind, yes. She didn’t tell us.”

                “She barely told me. And I don’t know her decision, all I know is she’s with him.” He shifts his leg slightly awkwardly.

                “You’re in pain,” I state, gesturing at it. He nods.

                “I generally am.”

                “You’re a Potions Master. Brew something?”

                “Thank you, Potter, that had not yet occurred to me,” he retorts dryly. “Much like Muggle painkillers, I can only take so much. It will heal in its own time. It has not yet been six months since the battle and the wounds were serious. It is improving. I don’t always need the cane now.”

                “Hermione would be pleased to hear that part at least.”

                “She checks in. Not as often as she did but she tries. How is she?”

                “How do you think?” I ask, looking at him. “She’s falling apart. She’s exhausted. Everything last year – after all that this year should have been her fresh start, her new life and instead it’s all gone to shit. You know her parents don’t know anything about all this?”

                “Hermione protects people, that is what she does,” he answers. “She’s been taking care of you for so long she doesn’t know what to do now it’s over. She’s put so many people first for so long I don’t believe she knows how to be selfish and it isn’t healthy.” He sips his drink. “What are you getting her for Christmas?” I raise my eyebrows.

                “I have no idea. She always says she doesn’t need anything.”

                “Potter, believe it or not, I do not have a great deal of experience with buying presents for friends. However, I do know that you’re meant to give a person something they want not something they need.”

                “She always says she doesn’t want anything. And I don’t want to get her yet another book. Do you have any ideas?”

                “I heard you were selling Grimmauld Place,” he says, apropos of nothing. I frown.

                “How do you _know_ this stuff?”

                “I heard you talking to Minerva about it a few days ago.”

                “Yeah. I thought about keeping it but – Ginny’s never liked it and every time I walk past Sirius’ old room I think about him and Remus. I redecorated you know? Thought it’d be like an exorcism, like a cleansing but it just looked good with bad memories. I don’t want to live there. But in a way I don’t want to sell it either. I don’t know how I’d feel never being able to go back there.”

                “I assume you left the library intact? Hermione loves that library.”

                “Yes. That needed the least work. Look, where are you going with – you think I should give her Grimmauld Place.”

                “Finally,” he says, getting up and putting his empty glass down. “That was painful. Good night, Mr Potter.”

 

At just past eight, I go to Salazar’s rooms. If she has saved him, she’s unlikely to stick around and cuddle after. And if she hasn’t, I know she might need the cuddle. I only have to wait a few minutes. The door clicks open and she exits alone and almost silently as she closes the door behind her.

                “Hermione,” I say softly. She looks up at me and I know from looking at her that she made the choice to save him. She doesn’t need to say it, she doesn’t need to speak and I open my arms to her. “Come here,” I mutter. She falls into me and I hang on tight as I feel her hands take hold of fistfuls of my shirt and cling. “It’s OK, Hermione. It’s OK. I’ve got you now. It’s OK.”

                “Oh Harry,” she whispers into my chest. “It’s not. And it’s never going to be again.”

                “Hey, hey, come on. Don’t say that. It’s done now, it’s over.”

                “No it isn’t,” she replies. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t touch him. I can’t do it, Harry. I’ve killed him.”


	33. Chapter 33

Salazar POV

 

I intend to spend my last full day alive with Severus. He says little when I show up at dawn; he just lets me in and lets me sit in silence for a long time.

                “We got as far as my bedroom,” I say after a long time. He doesn’t question the start to the conversation; he just leaves his desk and joins me on the sofa. “We’d discussed what she would and wouldn’t do, we’d negotiated how we’d do it. She was naked, we were both naked and she – she started crying. She apologised but she couldn’t do it. I could see it in her eyes, the fact that she didn’t want to touch me, couldn’t touch me. She was desperate; I could see her trying to force it.”

                “You stopped it.”

                “We both stopped it. I think even if she had gone through with it – I don’t think it would have actually worked. The prophecy specified willing. She wasn’t willing. She could maybe have found the nerve to do the deed but she wouldn’t have been willing at bottom. I was a terrible man in many ways, Severus but I was never and could never be a rapist. I won’t coerce or beg or reason with her. She has to come to me willingly and she’ll never be able to do it. And that’s fair.”

                “You’ll die.”

                “Will I really?” I snap, unable to help it. “I hadn’t realised. God, I was – I really thought I was going to live. She was right there; she was right in front of me, completely naked. She was so beautiful Severus. She’s all creamy skin and softness. Like silk, that’s what I thought when I had my hands on her before she pulled back, that she was like silk.” I raise an imaginary toast. “At least I’ll go out this time with truly excellent memories. I said at the start of this it wouldn’t be difficult to bed her, and I was right. I could have done it and enjoyed every second of it, even with her conditions imposed.”

                “What will you do?”

                “I’ll leave, I think. I’ll go away, not stay here tomorrow. I don’t want to make her watch me die. She already feels bad enough. I don’t want her to suffer more than she must.” I look up at him. “Will you give her a message from me, when it’s over?”

                “Of course, but –“

                “Tell her I don’t blame her. Tell her that there’s no need for her to be guilty, that there’s no need for her to spend her life suffering. This is my fault too. I should have been nicer from the start; I should have taken your advice and engaged with her instead of antagonising her. Tell her I’m sorry and that she should be happy.”

                “I’ll tell her. I will. But it isn’t too late, there might still be a chance –“

                “We both know that isn’t true, Severus, but thank you for your effort.”

                “You never –“ he’s interrupted by a silver stag soaring through the door and coming to a pause in front of us.

                “Salazar, please come to the Room of Requirement.”

                “Who was that?” I ask, watching the stag dissolve.

                “Harry Potter. You’d better go.”

                “Will you come with me?”

                “I doubt he’s planning on cursing you, but certainly, if you would like me to.”

 

He accompanies me and I’m grateful for his silence. He doesn’t continue to blether on and on about how there might still be a chance. The door to the Room is exposed and I frown at it.

                “Harry is very powerful,” Severus mutters. “While we can see the door, no others will be able to.”

                “I didn’t put that in when I designed this.”

                “He’s Harry Potter. Believe me, over the last seven years I have learned to just accept it.”

                “Should we knock?” Severus rolls his eyes, steps forward and opens the door while I dither about. We go in to find Harry, William Weasley and a red-headed boy I don’t recognise but looks enough like Weasley to be a relation.

                “Severus, we weren’t expecting you too. You might as well stay though. Ah yes, here’s another chair for you. Please sit down, both of you,” Harry invites. “Salazar, this is Ron Weasley, Bill’s brother and Hermione’s other best friend.”

                “Hello,” I say. Ron snorts, and looks away.

                “Ron, don’t be a dick,” Harry orders. “We’re here as friends. This is, shall we say, an intervention.”

                “An intervention? Do you plan to offer to kill me now so I don’t have to spend the remaining hours I have twiddling my thumbs?”

                “Please don’t be difficult, Salazar,” Harry says, wearily. “I know what happened, Hermione told me. However, as it’s Hermione, I’m absolutely certain that I got a version of the story that puts it all on her.”

                “I stopped as much as she stopped.”

                “Not like you,” Ron says, icily.

                “I was not and am not a rapist, thank you very much. She was crying for Merlin’s sake! She was sobbing her heart out and apologising all over the place and I could see what being in bed with me was costing her. My life isn’t worth her unhappiness.”

                “She wants to,” William interrupts. “She wants to save you. If she didn’t you’d never have got as far as the bed, believe me. What she can’t reconcile in her mind is how she has to. Ginny’s with her now, and my mother. She’s talking about it. We’re here to talk to you.”

                “What can I say? What do you want from me?”

                “Personally, I want you to fuck off,” Ron says. “However, Hermione doesn’t. She wants to save you, Merlin knows why. I’m here only for her.”

                “We all are,” Harry says. “Look, Ron – you said you’d be supportive and decent about this. If you can’t be, maybe you should go. Like Bill says, they got as far as the bed and you know full well she wouldn’t have got that far if she wasn’t willing to try. Now, Salazar, I’ll appreciate it if you don’t want to tell us, but what exactly happened last night?”

                “She came to my room, as we had discussed after we’d had our dinner. We spoke briefly, and negotiated what we would and wouldn’t do. She proposed the conditions that we didn’t kiss and that foreplay would be kept to whatever was necessary to do the job. I agreed.”

                “I – she wouldn’t kiss you?” Bill asks.

                “She said it wasn’t love, so she wouldn’t kiss me.”

                “This is my fault,” he says, suddenly. He looks almost ill. “I said – dear God, I said bloody terrible things to her. I said appalling things. I accused her of – of making love with me in a certain way because she was being self-sacrificing. And I left making her think I didn’t want her. She – I have to go. I have to go and see Hermione. I’m so sorry, Salazar – I’m going to try and make this right.”

 

The four of us left look at each other, baffled. Ron suddenly turns to Harry.

                “Am I missing something? Is Hermione fucking Bill?”

                “She’s in love with him,” Harry says, looking embarrassed suddenly. “Did – did nobody tell you?”

                “No. Nobody mentioned that. I need to go too. Sorry.” Severus sits back as the door clicks closed behind Ron as Harry buries his face in his hands with a groan.

                “Well, this has gone swimmingly,” he says, almost cheerfully. “I must say, Potter, I do enjoy seeing you and Weasley in the same place. Everything goes so _well._ ”

                “Please don’t be a snarky bastard now, Severus,” Harry mumbles into his palms. “I cannot even begin to process this shit.”

                “Language.”

                “You aren’t my bloody teacher now, Severus.” Harry leaves his hands to rest his head against the backrest of his armchair. “ _Why_ does this Room not provide alcohol? I need a bloody drink.”

                “Food and drink are exceptions to the Rules of Transfiguration –“

                “I know, I know. I still need a sodding drink.”

                “Here,” Severus says, producing a hip flask. “I poured it earlier, thought Salazar might need it for the celebration or commiseration as the situation played out. We can always multiply it but it is only ten-thirty –“

                “I haven’t slept in a day, Severus. Time means nothing to me right now. Look, glasses.” Severus pours him a measure and he knocks it back like water. “I need to start watching what I drink though,” he mutters, studying the empty glass. “When this is over and I can finally have a bloody break. I swear to God, the second Ginny leaves this school, I’m taking her to a beach and we are going to do absolutely nothing for a month.”

                “Probably one of your better ideas, Potter.”

                “Salazar, I’m sure she’ll come round.”

                “She’s got a day. A day and a half, it’s not going to be enough and I – I don’t know if I could go through with it. If she has to be persuaded into it – surely that means that she isn’t willing? It’d be no good. I couldn’t do that to a woman and anyway even if I could it wouldn’t matter. The prophecy says willing. She has to be willing.”

                “I am.” The voice shocks all three of us. Hermione is standing in the doorway, pale but determined. “I am willing and I want to do this.” Harry and Severus disappear so quickly they may as well have melted. “Come to bed with me?” she whispers it, and as she does, the bed appears. This, far more than her words, convinces me that she means what she says. The Room would not provide it if she had doubts. But for my own sake, I ask anyway.

                “Are you sure?”

                “Completely.” She crosses the room and comes to a halt in front of me. “I am sure. I am willing and I am ready to do this. And no – no stupid conditions this time. We’ll do this properly.”

 

So I bend my head and I kiss her and she kisses me back without a stroke of hesitation. She unbuttons my shirt and her fingertips touch my chest, dancing down to stroke my stomach. I find the hem of her shirt and tug it up, over her head. She unhooks her bra, perhaps remembering the furious tussle I had to have with it last time.

 

She leads me to the bed, she urges me to lie down. She unbuckles my belt, eases open the buttons that hide me from her and pulls my trousers down. I’m already half-hard for her and as she wraps her hand around me it increases. I know already that I won’t last long. So I push her hands away, roll us so she is on her back beneath me. My hands go to her jeans, unfasten the buttons there. I slide them down her legs, watching as each inch of creamy skin is exposed to me. When she’s naked, I think it crosses both our minds that we’ve been in this exact position before, and last time it went horribly wrong. But this time she rises up to meet my lips again, and she guides my hands to her centre. She isn’t ready yet, nothing like ready. But I know that this is not rejection, her smile, her whispers that I may touch her are proof of it.

 

I find that I have forgotten nothing of what to do, that I still know how to pleasure a woman. I am gentle with her, using mouth and tongue on her until she’s quivering a little beneath my hands, her thighs shaking slightly. I listen as she gasps quietly, wait until she’s moaning before I slide a finger into hot, wet, willing heat. She’s tight around me but when I add the second finger she cries out and clenches tight. I can’t help a private smirk against her thigh, out of her sight. It’s always music to a man’s ears when he hears how much a woman appreciates his touch.

 

Her hand is on my shoulder, urging me up to lie over her. She reaches down between us to wrap her hand around me once again, coaxing me back to full hardness.

                “Do it,” she breathes. “Please.” And I slide inside her, she lifts her hips to meet me and I find my limit, a gasp tearing out of my lungs as I remember in a glorious rush how wonderful it is to be inside a woman. I thrust against her shallowly, gradually increasing my strokes until I’m plunging into her. She clutches at my shoulders, scrabbling slightly for a purchase. She lets go only to slide her hand back between us to touch herself. It doesn’t take much from her for her to be crying out, and gripping me so tightly as she contracts around me. I feel the wet rush of her orgasm, feel the tightness change as she convulses and I come with a groan and a gasp and a grunt of her name on my lips.

 

Before I can withdraw, panting hard, a white light fills the room. It’s blinding, and she cries out in confusion instead of pleasure, her hand coming up to shield her eyes. When it fades, both of us have to blink several times before it clears from before our eyes, and she looks at me in wonder.

                “I think it worked,” she whispers, sitting up. I look at her.

                “Thank you,” I say, my voice almost thick. I realise in shock that tears are gathering in my eyes. “Thank you.”

                “No. I don’t need to be thanked. You want to thank me, then you go and you live your life. You live it as well as you can.”

                “I will,” I say, taking her hands in mine even as she stands up to dress. “I swear. And I won’t forget the promise I made you. I’ll write. I’ll say goodbye before I go.”

                “Thank you,” she says, and we laugh a little. It’s slightly awkward. She pulls her hands back and dresses. As she gets to the door, she turns back to me. Her tone is light, but her eyes belie that. “And don’t forget – betray the promise you made to me and I will come for you.”

                “I won’t betray it. I swear it to you.” She nods.

                “For some reason I believe you,” she says, and her tone is nothing but joking now. “Must be the orgasm.”

                “I’m very good,” I quip and she laughs.

                “You’re not bad. I’ll see you at dinner, Salazar.”

                “Yes,” I say. “I’ll see you at dinner.” She offers me a smile as she leaves, and when she does I cross to the window. It’s showing me the mountains to the north of the castle, and I look at the snow-capped tops and think that now, I have all the time in the world to see those mountains again, to climb them again and look down upon the castle. Perhaps I’ll do that before I go, look down on the castle and remember everything. I can do whatever I want. I can go wherever I want.

 

I have my second chance.


	34. Chapter 34

Hermione POV

 

I go back to Bill with a racing heart. He’s waiting, just as he promised. He looks pale, and I go over to where he stands at the parapet surrounding the Astronomy Tower.

                “I did it,” I say, rather unnecessarily. I see the wince at the confirmation though. “And we need to talk.”

                “I know.”

                “You really hurt me Bill. You – for you to say what you said was appalling. For you to accuse me of only fucking you out of some – some feeling of _pity_.”

                “I know,” he says, covering his face with his hands. “I – I should – I’m sorry.”

                “I know you are,” I say, joining him and leaning on the parapet beside him. “But you still said it. I – I told you things I haven’t even vocalised to Harry for God’s sake and you still said it. I would never have shown you what Bellatrix did if I was only with you to help you get your confidence back. I let you in and I asked you to do one thing and you threw it in my face. You threw everything in my face when you said those words to me. I had to go to Salazar knowing good and well you were angry with me, even thinking that you might hate me.”

                “Merlin, Hermione, I – there’s nothing I can say. I will spend every day for the rest of my life asking you to forgive me if it’ll help.”

                “I – I don’t need that. But we need time, Bill. We met in a hell of a way this time around, with so much going on and such high stakes for everything. We need time to actually get to know each other, to find out all the little things about each other. I mean – I don’t even know basic shit about you. I don’t know how you like your tea, or what you like for breakfast on a normal day. I don’t know your favourite colour or what your favourite part of your job is. We don’t know each other, not really. We fell into bed too quickly and got too deep too fast.” He’s staring at the Lake. “Look at me,” I say, gently. “I’m not saying I don’t want to see you. I’m saying we should date.”

                “You want to date me?”

                “I’m told it’s what normal people do before they jump into a bed together,” I say, smiling. He doesn’t smile back. “What is it?”

                “I still – I – I need to show you that I’m sorry.” I don’t protest or argue or say that I don’t need it because in a way I do need it. I need the visual, tangible proof. And he needs to do it too; he needs to show me because it is what will put his mind at rest.

                “Fine,” I say, slowly. “If you feel that’s what you need to do, do it. I’m going to meet Ginny for lunch, OK?”

                “Will you meet me, then?” he asks. “Let me take you to dinner?”

                “Give it a couple of days,” I say. “Salazar will leave the castle either tonight or tomorrow, and he promised he’d say goodbye first. Let’s close the book completely on this chapter before we start the new one. So shall we say you can take me to dinner in three days? Monday night?”

                “Sure,” he says. “Monday.” I reach out; cover one of his hands with mine.

                “This isn’t punishment,” I say gently. “I’m not doing this to make you feel guilty, or to hurt you. I’m doing this because otherwise we’ll burn out.”

                “I see that. I’m not going to say I like it, but I understand why. I’m going to stay at home now too. Mum gave me a proper scolding about this, just so you know.” I smile.

                “Ginny told me,” I reply. “You deserved it. When will you leave?”

                “Now,” he says, pushing himself off the ledge. “I’ll go now. I think that’s best. I’ll stay if you want but –“

                “Do what you need to do,” I say. “I understand if you need to leave.”

                “I do. But this isn’t because of you, it’s on me. It’s all me. I need to get my head back on straight. Will you meet me on Monday in Hogsmeade?”

                “Sure,” I say.

                “I’ll think about a restaurant and owl you if you need to dress up. I’ll see you Monday.”

 

He kisses my forehead before he leaves, and I stay at the top of the tower. I watch his figure leave the grounds and I’m still up there an hour later when Ginny finds me.

                “I used the map,” she explains. “You OK?”

                “Fine.”

                “I saw Bill leave.”

                “We’re going to take our time. We’re going to date and get to know each other this time around, instead of just leaping into bed at the first opportunity.”

                “That’s good.”

                “That’s what I figured. Did you want something?”

                “Just wanted to check you were OK. See if you needed anything.”

                “I’m fine,” I say again, smiling at her this time. “But half-frozen, so I think we should go inside.”

                “That’s an excellent idea. Do you think it’s going to snow?”

                “Probably,” I reply. “Feels it, anyway. You can almost smell it in the air.”

                “You can smell snow?” she asks as we start making our way down the twisting stairs.

                “Yeah, can’t everyone? It’s the kind of cold smell, that clean scent on the wind.”

                “I’ve got no idea what you’re on about,” she says, cheerfully. “I think it might just be you.” I laugh and we come out onto the corridor. She takes my arm through hers and we go for lunch in the Hall. I sit with her and look around.

                “Where’s Harry?”

                “He had to go to Gringotts,” she explains, helping herself to sandwiches. “Something about selling Grimmauld Place.”

                “Oh, it’ll be a shame to never go there again. I’ll miss it. Have you seen it since he redecorated?”

                “No, we haven’t really had the time. I’ll see it at Christmas. You helped him do some of it, didn’t you?”

                “Yeah, but we only managed the kitchen and the two rooms on the ground floor. The kitchen’s beautiful now.” I reach over for pumpkin juice and pour us both some.

 

We eat in silence and then we go to the Common Room. Despite it all, we still have homework, and we work in friendly silence on a Principles of Charms essay for Flitwick. NEWTs are now finally my first priority and I make notes on additional questions to research even as I write. Ginny works better than either Ron or Harry ever did. She doesn’t constantly sigh or groan or mutter. She looks up only once to ask to borrow my _Advanced Wand-Work_ book, and then continues in silence. I finish before her, looking up as I stretch. A nervous-looking first year approaches.

                “Please,” he whispers, looking at me with such adoration I feel nervous myself. Ginny glances up too.

                “Yes?” I ask. “Do you need help with something?”

                “No,” he answers. “Only there’s – Mr Slytherin is outside. He’s asking to see you. The Fat Lady won’t let him in.” I stifle a laugh at that and stand up.

                “Thanks, kid,” I say, nodding. “I’ll go and see what he wants.”

 

To my surprise, he’s standing there with a suitcase by his feet and a travelling cloak over his arm.

                “You’re leaving? So soon?”

                “I didn’t want to make things difficult for you,” he replies. “I assumed you’d have many things to do now. And I know your school work has been piling up a little.” He grins at me and I smile back.   

                “Thank you. But I don’t want you to feel you have to go at once, if you’d prefer to stay, if you still had things to do?”

                “I have a lifetime now, Hermione. If this castle can survive a battle, I’m certain it will still be standing in six months or a year.”

                “You’d hope,” I reply, laughing a little. “Where are you going?”

                “Romania. There’s a library there.”

                “I know it – Biblioteca Mondiala.”

                “You’ve been?”

                “No,” I shake my head. “I’ve read about it though and always wanted to go.” He smiles.

                “Well, in six months you’ll be done here. You could go.”

                “Perhaps I will. I don’t know what I’m doing yet.” A chime sounds then, and a pale blue clock appears.

                “My portkey,” he explains. “Will you walk with me to the boundary?”

                “Sure,” I say. “Let me just grab my cloak, it’s bloody chilly out there.” I run inside and find Ginny already holding it.

                “I guessed,” she says, softly. I nod to her and take it, swinging it round my neck. I slip back out.

                “You were faster than I thought you’d be.” We walk slowly out of the castle. Nobody else comes and I look around when we reach the hall. “I’ve already said my other goodbyes,” he says, quietly. “You were the last.”

                “I see. What are you going to do after Romania?”

                “I’m not sure. Go where the wind takes me I suppose. I hear there’s a dragon sanctuary out there so perhaps I’ll visit.”

                “Bill’s brother works there,” I say, thinking of Charlie. “I could write to him, if you’d like, put you in touch? He’d probably give you a tour.”

                “How many brothers does he have?” Salazar asks.

                “There are seven Weasley children. Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, Fred, Ron and Ginny. Although that’s wrong – Fred. Fred died. In the War, he fell at the Battle here. So I guess there’s six now.”

                “I’m sorry.”

                “Don’t be. It’s done now, isn’t it? We can’t bring him back and we can’t undo it.”

                “If I could, I would,” he says, very quietly.

                “Well. Perhaps there is something you can do.” We’ve reached the gates, and I regard him thoughtfully. “I don’t think you quite realise yet – you’re alive again. The founder of Hogwarts who laid down the foundations for pureblood supremacy is alive and has turned over a new leaf. You speaking out against your old ideals might do more to dispel the lingering threads of hatred towards people like me than anything we can do.”

                “I’ll do it. As soon as I’m settled in Romania, I’ll write to the press and see what I can do about getting something published. I’ll keep your name out of this – it would be a shame to undo all of Severus’ hard work in maintaining your privacy.”

                “Severus? Severus kept it out of the papers?” I ask, genuinely surprised. “I assumed – never mind. We have little time, don’t we? Can we – will you write?”

                “Of course I will. I’ll probably write so often you’ll be quite sick of me. I’ll tell you all about the library of course, and the books I read and see. This is where I’ll be staying the first month at least,” he continues, handing me a parchment. “I would hope you would write too.”

                “I will. As much as I can anyway, with NEWTs.”

                “Of course,” he says quickly. “Don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you if you aren’t the best correspondent. And – Hermione, I hope so very much that your relationship with Mr Weasley works out for the best. You are – you are an exceptional woman and a remarkable witch. You deserve happiness in your life.” He takes my elbow and leans in. He kisses my cheek very gently, then steps back. He steps back and withdraws a parcel from his cloak pocket. “This is for you. Please, don’t open it now. You’ll only waffle on and I really must go. There’s a letter in there that explains everything you want to know.”

                “I didn’t get you anything,” I murmur.

                “You gave me life, Hermione. This doesn’t even come near to making that up. I really do need to leave, Hermione –“

                “Of course. Of course. Have fun, Salazar. Enjoy yourself and write to me plenty.”

                “I shall. Goodbye, Hermione.” He takes an old teacup out of a pocket and clutches it firmly. “And thank you.” Before I can respond, he vanishes, the portkey glowing blue before he goes. I’m left to watch the empty path and walk home alone.

 

Safe in my room, I open the box he gave me with Ginny sat in my desk chair. The letter is brief.

 

_Hermione,_

_I know you will consider this too extravagant. It is something that has languished in the Slytherin vaults for centuries now – please don’t fear it, it’s nothing Dark. It was made by Nordic Goblins for my mother upon her marriage to my father. I would be more honoured than I can say if you were to keep it however._

_Your servant,_

_Salazar._

I toss the letter to Ginny. She scans it quickly and whistles.

                “Well for Merlin’s sake don’t keep me in suspense!” she cries, as I dither about with the bedspread. “What’s in it?”

                “You open it,” I say, shoving at her. “After that letter I can only assume it is atrociously valuable.”

                “Probably,” she agrees cheerfully, pulling a round black velvet box from the cardboard one. “Jewellery, by the looks of things.” She fiddles with the clasp on it for a moment, before fining the catch to release it and easing the lid open. “Fuck me,” she breathes.

                “What is it?” I ask, reaching over and taking the box from her. My eyes widen.

 

The diamond is set in the centre of a emerald circle, each emerald roughly the size of a pin head. The diamond itself is stunning. It’s shockingly big - bigger than my thumbnail. The gold band that holds it all seems dwarfed by the jewels and as it catches the firelight it glows.

                “Hermione,” Ginny breathes, staring at it. “That’s – that’s the most perfect diamond I’ve ever seen in my life.”

                “It’s massive,” I say hoarsely. “Does he expect it to be worn? I couldn’t, I wouldn’t dare –“

                “I think it’s a special occasion ring that.” I try it on, slipping it onto my right hand. It does look big but as the band magically resizes to fit my finger, it seems less ostentatious on than it does off. I slip it off and place it very carefully back into its box. “I think,” Ginny announces, slipping off my bed, “that I am going to go now. Possibly to die of shock.”

                “You don’t –“

                “No – I have to pop to the library anyway. Get over my shock. I’ll see you around, I guess.”        

                “Yeah. See you around.”

 

Before I go to bed that night – with all my essays complete for the week for the first time in an entire month – I bury the ring box in the depths of my trunk, and place Anti-Theft Charms, Tracking Spells and Notice-Me-Not enchantments on it. As soon as the Christmas holidays roll around, I’ll go to Gringotts and put it into my vault. Even with enchantments, I don’t feel comfortable with something so old and so valuable in my bedroom. And in the morning, I’ll write to Salazar to check he definitely wants me to have something so old and so valuable.

 

But just for tonight, I can’t be anything but glad it’s over. Peace, finally, can be mine.


	35. Chapter 35

CHRISTMAS DAY, 1998

 

Ginny is laughing somewhere outside; I can hear it floating through the open window in the kitchen. I’m peeling an enormous pile of potatoes for Molly while she dresses an enormous turkey. The Burrow is full to bursting – Harry arrived last night, I arrived this morning with my parents in tow, Ron came home two days ago, Charlie with him. George appeared last night, Percy this morning, and Bill is due any minute. He had to go into London for a last minute present last night and spent the night at the Leaky after running into a friend and getting a little too merry. Harry and Ginny are sharing a room, Harry having spent a full week charming Molly into letting him, leaving Ron and George to share with Charlie. Percy is sleeping in the living room with his parents. I’m going to be sleeping in with Bill tonight and my parents have taken Molly and Arthur’s room for tonight, at their own insistence.

 

Right now my mother is showing Arthur how to use a Muggle potato peeler. He’s thrilled beyond reason at this and keeps asking her questions about Muggle dentistry. My father is showing the boys and Ginny how football is played, with help from Harry.

                “Hermione!” screams a voice from outside, followed by Ginny’s head popping into the kitchen window. “Bill’s here!”

                “Go on, Hermione,” my mother says, nudging me with her arm. “Molly and I can handle this, can’t we?”

                “Of course we can. You go out and have fun.” I run to the backdoor, still in the apron Molly lent me, and see Bill at once, crossing the yard. His hair is blowing in the bitter wind, and his cheeks are pink above his scarf.

                “Bill!” I cry, dashing for him. He scoops me up, laughing at me as he does.

                “I only saw you two days ago,” he says, amused. He glances towards the kitchen window and sneaks a kiss.

                “I know,” I say, resting my head on his shoulder before he puts me down. “My father’s here.”

                “I know,” he says. “He can’t see us, can he?”

                “No, they’re all down in the paddock. He and Harry are teaching your brothers to play football.”

                “Well, that I need to see. Shall I meet your parents then?”

                “If you think you’re ready,” I say.

                “It’s a hell of a Christmas present,” he grumbles. “Meeting your woman’s parents on Christmas Day.”

                “I’m not your woman,” I say, poking him in the belly. “You’re my man.”

                “Am I now?” he says, grinning. He steals another, deeper kiss.

                “Hermione, just so you know, I can see you,” my mother’s voice sounds from the still open kitchen window. Bill leaps back about two feet. A moment later, she appears in the doorway, wiping her hands on her own apron. “You must be William,” she says, approaching to hold out her hand. Bill shakes it, very properly. He’s still scarlet.

                “Yes, people call me Bill. You’re Hermione’s mother, Mrs Granger.”        

                “Jean,” she says, smiling. She eyes him critically. “Hermione neglected to mention how handsome you were.”

                “Mum!” I hiss, positively mortified.

                “Handsome?” Bill says, grinning at me.

                “Shut up.”

                “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs Granger – Jean, I mean. I hope my father isn’t asking you too many questions.”

                “Oh it’s fine dear. We’ve started a game – for every question he asks me about my world, I get a question about this world. He’s been very informative.”

                “Well if he gets too much, I’m sure my mother can find a distraction for him. Now, Hermione – remember I had to go to London to get one of your Christmas presents?”

                “It was one of mine? How _rude_. I’ve had your presents since the end of November.”

                “This one had a long way to travel,” he says. He points over my shoulder. I turn, and there, grinning like a madman, is Salazar.

 

His hair is longer, tied back into a tail much like Bill’s. Unlike the Weasley’s, he’s wearing full robes and carrying the same case he left Hogwarts with.

                “You didn’t,” I say, disbelieving. “You did not. It’s George, right? Polyjuice?”

                “It’s really me, Granger,” Salazar replies, walking towards us. “Don’t I even get a hug? I came back from Romania for this.” I laugh, and go into his arms.

                “I can’t believe this,” I say, pushing him away to look at him. “Honestly.”

                “Are you mad?” Bill asks, putting his arm around my shoulders.

                “No, I’m not mad at all. Thank you, both of you.” I turn back to my mother. “Mum, come on. This is Salazar, he’s a friend.”

                “Hello,” my mother says, smiling at him. “I’m Jean Granger, Hermione’s mother.”

                “It’s lovely to meet you.”

                “Are you a wizard too?” she asks, still smiling. “I’m not, of course, nor her father.”

                “Yes, I’m a wizard too. Is your father here too?”

                “He’s in the paddock playing football,” I say.

                “Go on down to him, dear,” my mother says. “He’ll want to meet Bill.”

                “I’ll go into the house, if that’s alright,” Salazar says, picking up his case again. “I’m sure Mrs Weasley could use some assistance. May I, Mrs Granger?” he says, offering my mother his arm. To my astonishment, my mother actually giggles at him, accepting his arm and letting him escort her. Bill and I go down to the paddock, laughing together about Salazar escorting my Muggle mother.

 

Before we reach it, Bill looks around to check the coast is definitely clear, before pulling me into the small copse of trees bordering the paddock.

                “Now, Granger – are any of your relatives hiding somewhere nearby?”

                “Not to the extent of my knowledge,” I reply. “Why?”

                “Because,” he says, taking my face in his hands, “I don’t feel like I’ve greeted you properly.” I giggle, but then he’s kissing me. I gasp at the force of it, then throw my arms around him and return in kind. His hands slip under my thighs and hitch me up, bringing my groin into direct contact with his. I can already feel him, I realise, hard and ready as he grinds into me.

                “Eager,” I say, as he breaks away from my lips and attacks my neck.

                “It’s you,” he growls. “How you taste, how you smell, how you feel against me. You drive me fucking mental, Granger, just by standing there, even in that apron.”

                “We can’t do this here,” I end that assertion on a moan as one of his hands slips up under my jumper and finds my breast to linger on a nipple that thinks we very much can do this here, thank you. The assertion also doesn’t stop me from fisting a hand in his hair to drag his mouth back to mine and bucking my hips against him.

                “Can we do this tonight?”

                “You’re damn right we can.”

                “Granger,” he groans, breaking away enough to press our foreheads together. “I need to put you down.”

                “That’s probably a good idea.” I unwrap my legs and he puts me gently on the ground. He has to adjust himself and runs his hand through his hair, looking rather sheepish.

                “Sorry about that. I missed you the last few days.”

                “I missed you too,” I say, wrapping my arms around him and resting my head on his shoulder. “But you need to meet my Dad.”

                “So if we weren’t on our way to meet your dad, would you have had sex with me?”

                “God yes. You know your mum is letting us share a bedroom?”

                “I’m aware.”

                “And we both know a variety of charms and spells so you can make me scream all night if you like.”

                “Merlin, Granger.”

                “Come on,” I say, smiling at him. “Let’s get it out the way. And don’t worry, he’ll love you.”

 

And he does love him, because Bill is charming and polite to him, interested in his stories and sweet about my mother. He joins in the game of football while I go back to the Burrow to see what I can do to help. Molly immediately sets me to preparing the vegetables and I see Salazar bending over a pile of sausages and bacon rashers, intent on helping my mother make the pigs in blankets. He seems cheerful enough, and grins at me when I sit down opposite with the pile of carrots that require peeling. When everything is ready, with the turkey and potatoes in the oven, we hear the voices of the others, and they all charge back into the house, all glowing with the cold outside and the exercise they’ve had. With everything done, there’s no need for anyone else to help, and so Arthur starts pulling out the alcohol.

 

We gather happily in the living room, and Bill and I manage to sit together, tucked into the same armchair and snuggled up. And my mother is very good about distracting my father so he doesn’t get too het up about the necking. The Wizarding beers Arthur presses on him are also helping. Once dinner is ready, Bill sits on one side with Salazar on the other, and the table rings with joyful chatter. My father is quite flushed and happily discussing the nuances of Muggle dentistry with Arthur who is one big thrill about having real Muggles to talk to in detail and my mother and Molly are deep in conversation about spells for household chores. Salazar, Bill and I are all deep in conversation with Charlie about the dragons and Romania, while Ginny holds a loud and commanding argument with George, Ron and Harry about the Cannons, with whom Ron has been invited to play for next year. Percy is chipping into Arthur and Dad’s conversation now and again but otherwise is content, largely as he always was, to let the conversations flow around him. Crackers are pulled and my mother blushes like mad when hers bursts to reveal a twittering flock of sparrows that form a heart around her and my father. Once everyone is formally attired in ridiculous hats, and too full to hold another crumb, we progress to the living room to open gifts. Salazar was obviously in on this all along, and has brought everyone a gift, even buying my parents something. It turns out to be just a bottle of elf-made wine each and a box of chocolates but they appreciate it. In return – in a move which tells me plainly that everyone was in on it – my parents present him with a big encyclopaedia about London which he clearly burns to open immediately.

 

My presents are much the same as ever – plenty of beautiful new books, a new dress from Ginny, a fascinating model of a Swedish Short Snout dragon from Charlie that breathes real fire when you tickle its belly and the usual Weasley jumper, which my parents have too. Salazar presents me with a map of the library in Romania and two books about Wizarding Europe in the last century. Percy hands over a gift voucher for Flourish and Blotts, citing that he wasn’t sure what to get me and figures this way I can go and choose for myself. As I hand him a gift voucher of his own, this time for Honeydukes, it evens itself out. Bill whispers that while Salazar is a present, he has one other that he intends to give me later. And finally, Harry hands me a long, official looking envelope.

                “What’s this?” I ask, laughing and pushing back the top hat that came out of my cracker.

                “Open it.” I do so and fish out a thick stack of parchments. Unfolding them, my eyes widen.

                “Harry!”

                “You can and you will accept it, Hermione,” he says, firmly. “I don’t want it, not to live in it anyway – but I don’t want to lose it completely. I hate the idea of a stranger taking it over but you love it and always have.”

                “But Grimmauld Place – can it even be done?” He understands my real question at once – can I as a Muggleborn own such a Pureblood stead?

                “Yes. Bill helped me with it – all the deeds and spells and whatnot. It’s yours. So I can move out now, or later as you might desire.” I laugh at him.

                “I don’t need a house until I’m done with Hogwarts and even so I can’t render you homeless.”

                “Then I’ll move out at the end of June. Ginny and I are planning to get a place then anyway and I don’t particularly want to stay in London.”

                “Oh, Harry – I still don’t know.”

                “It’s too late,” he replies severely. “It’s all done, I’ve signed all the papers. If you won’t have it, then sell it – although  I’d hope you wouldn’t.”

                “Oh no of course not! Thank you Harry. I feel awful now – all I got you was a new Broomstick Servicing Kit.”

                “Well you spent money on mine. This cost me nothing.”

                “Oh, alright. Thank you. Really thank you, I love it and I will always love it.” He gets up and pulls me into a hug.

                “That’s all I want – and I know Sirius would like to know it was in the hands of someone who loved the place.”

 

By the time everything is over and done with, I’m worn out and longing to fall into bed with Bill. Salazar departs for a nearby Inn in the village as the Burrow is full to bursting and at the last minute Percy opts to join him. This lessens the strain slightly and finally, Bill closes the door behind us and looks at me.

                “Thank Merlin. I’ve wanted you alone for hours,” he says, warding the door and casting the necessary privacy charms. “But it’s up to you.” In answer, I pull my jumper off, unbutton my shirt and cast it aside.

                “Get over here then.” He advances, pulling me against him with one hand as the other busies itself with fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. We undress each other manually because it’s more fun to wrestle with belts and buttons while trying to remain touching at all times. It’s more fun to throw clothes over the side of the bed where they’ll land in a way calculated to trip someone up later on. He urges me onto my back, kisses a burning path down my chest and places a gentle touch on my hips, tracing patterns as he wanders towards his prize. By the time he takes me with hands and lips, my skin is already fizzing, some strange current running along beneath my skin and leaving me gasping.

 

Bill is gentle tonight, where he so easily could have been rough. When I move to touch him in return, he wraps his hand around mine to move it away.

                “Not tonight, my love. This is about you.” He takes me to pieces with a gentleness I didn’t know could work and then, when I’m delirious with pleasure and half-drunk on the sensations, he slides himself inside me and makes love to me until I’m crying out with desperation.

 

He wraps me up tight when he’s finished, wraps me up and holds me and only lets me go when the sweat starts to stick us together. Even then I don’t go far, and we face each other on a single pillow, almost nose to nose.

                “You never asked me what your other present was,” he whispers, despite the charms keeping us in our own impenetrable bubble.

                “I assumed that was it,” I whisper back. He laughs softly, shaking his head. He rolls over and pulls something out of his dressing table.

                “Before you panic, it isn’t a ring.” I open the box and find inside it a little silver key. I pick it up and look at it in confusion, turning it over to see if there’s an inscription. There isn’t, and I’m baffled. I look up at him in confusion. “It’s a Heart Key,” he whispers. “Traditionally given to a witch by a wizard to announce his intentions to court her. It’s a bit late – but I wanted you to have this. There’s a chain in there too – you’re meant to wear it around your neck so other wizards know that you’re being courted. It’s a bit of an outdated custom – Heart Keys were replaced by engagement rings really – but strictly that isn’t right because it’s not an engagement. Heart Keys were designed to be more of a promise than a commitment. But I had this one made for you because I think it suits us.” I lift up the little cushion and sure enough there is a fine silver chain. I attach the key and slip the chain around my neck, and feel the key warm instantly when it touches my skin. Bill gasps, and an identical key appears on him – but his is an outline on his chest, directly over his own heart. “It would go away if you took the key off and gave it back to me,” he explains as I trace it with my fingers.

 

We sleep like that, face to face and once, I wake in the night to find his hand covering mine. I twine my fingers into his and go back to sleep. I know already I won’t hand back the Heart Key. I know I will wear it forever and when I appear at breakfast wearing it, I know that Molly and Arthur at least know its meaning. They say nothing, and I sit down with my family at the start of my new life.


End file.
